


In the Woods Somewhere

by TinyPineTrees



Series: In the Woods Somewhere [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alpha Alfie, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gang Wars, M/M, Murder, Omega Tommy, Throwing Knives, Violence, graphic depictions of rape, mentions of rape/non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-05-15 05:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyPineTrees/pseuds/TinyPineTrees
Summary: Gangsters lead dangerous lives, and you can plan for everything, but that doesn’t mean it’ll always work out. Sometimes all you can do is pick up the pieces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never saw myself walking down this road, this was a plot bunny for quite a while, and I was always WAY too scared to actually write it. But! I’m a big believer in doing what scares you, and this is fucking terrifying! Ty WTMA for encouragement and Stormborn_88 for requesting some angst and a protective Alfie.  
> (please read the tags)

-Arthur-

 

It wasn’t the shaking that Arthur couldn’t deal with. It wasn’t the shaking, or the scent of rotten holly or even the flinching.

 

It was the crying.

 

Terrifyingly silent tears running down Tommy’s face. He’d never seen him cry before. Of course there were always signs he had cried, or was upset and might cry soon, but never in his life had his little brother cried in front of him.

 

“Tommy,” Arthur inched closer, stopping short as Tommy flinched hard, cracking his head against the wall. He backtracked, pushing away slightly to sit on the floor, just near the table Tommy’d hidden himself under.

 

Alfie had been extremely clear in his orders. _Don’t go too close, don’t stand over him and don’t move too fast._

 

“Tommy, no one saw anything, or-or even knows anything,” He gestured at the quiet room, creeping lower as Tommy’s eyes widened, tracking his hands as they moved.

 

He swore under his breath, watching as Tommy sank deeper into Alfie’s coat. The tears hadn’t stopped, not for a second. Where the fuck was Alfie? He needed to get back in here.

 

Three days. Three days since Tommy had disappeared off the London banks. Three days they’d been searching. One day since a rumor came around about a surprise for Sabini. Some upstart from Chiswick who no one had ever heard of, somehow had a magic gift that would pay his debts. Of which there were many, apparently. How Alfie had guessed the gift was Tommy was beyond Arthur, he was just happy he’d thought to guess.

 

They’d found the arsehole, holed up in an opium den, and subsequently, Tommy, screaming and fighting with every ounce of power he had in him against the two men holding him.

 

Alfie had paused for all of two seconds, watching as two men dragged Tommy over a breeding bench, and then he snapped. An anger so visceral that Arthur could see it smoking off of him, radiated outwards as he tore into them. He’d been waiting for Alfie’s notorious temper to flare to life, it’d been suspiciously absent during their search.

 

He’d worried, when Tommy met Alfie, when they’d dated and mated, and even more recently, that Alfie would crack one day and hit Tommy.

 

It’d taken some convincing, but he was firm now in his opinion that he really hadn’t needed to worry. Alfie wasn’t the sort to hit who he loved. Arthur really ought to reserve his worry for those deserving of that famous temper.

 

A groan whispered through the room, as the bloody arsehole that still lived twitched and jolted for a brief moment. More rotten holly permeated the room. Arthur didn’t agree with Alfie often, but even he had to admit that the foreplanning not to kill him and save him for later, for Tommy or for whomever to take their anger out on, was bitterly smart.

 

Tommy flickered to life, tremors rattling stronger as he eyed Arthur cautiously. Taking in how he sat on the dirty floor and tilting his head toward the doorway Alfie had disappeared through earlier. Maybe he’d left to kill everyone else in this shit hole, maybe to call someone. He could probably smell Alfie, finally returning from wherever the fuck he’d gone off to.

 

Tommy always swore Alfie scent was a bonfire, but Arthur felt fire alone was far more accurate. House fire, caravan fire, any sort of explosive and angry burn.

 

Arthur crept forward again, aching to at least hold Tommy’s hand, anything to make him stop crying, but he stopped short as Tommy’s eyes grew wider, and he pushed himself closer into the wall.

 

Ash preceded Alfie, stealing through the doorway just before him. He eyed Arthur, still smoking fire and fury, but covered in much more blood than when he’d left. Nodding at him, he turned to the table, his face softening as Tommy peered out from under it.

 

“Alright then,” He said, stooping gently next to Arthur. “Now, there isn’t a soul left in this place, and Arthur here, has just volunteered to drive the car, it’s just outside, to the London house.” Alfie explained, barely moving.

 

For someone who spoke so often with his hands, watching Alfie talk without them was odd.

 

Arthur bristled, choking and gagging as Alfie soaked the room in his scent. Fire blanketing over the blood, covering most of the opium as well. His nose stung, eyes watering as he forced himself to relax for Tommy’s sake, when Alfie’s voice sank.

 

He wouldn’t have called it a whisper, it wasn't quiet enough. A deep tone instead. A rolling, soothing peaceful sound he’d never have thought Alfie could produce.

 

“From the London house,” Alfie continued, crouching lower. He followed his own rules, Arthur noticed, never standing over Tommy, or moving too quickly. “We’ll go to Birmingham, I’ve just gotten off the phone with Polly.” Tommy’s shoulders hunched, anxiety screaming off of him. “She’s expecting us, and will be very glad to see you.” He held out his hand then, not quite under the table, but close enough that Tommy could easily reach.

 

“No one knows Tom.” Arthur agreed, catching Alfie’s eyes to confirm. The fear and anger of finding Tommy here, of having to coax him into believing that he and Alfie wouldn’t hurt him tore at him, shredding his insides.

 

He suddenly wished he’d gone to help kill whoever was left in the building with Alfie.

 

They watched, Arthur nervously and Alfie surprisingly calm, as Tommy’s hand crept out from inside the coat sleeve to timidly take Alfie’s hand.

 

Arthur pulled himself up, reaching to help, but stumbled back to the floor when Alfie froze and Tommy wrenched himself back under the table, slamming into the wall again. His stomach soured with the renewed rotten holly swept through the room. Everything they did made Tommy worse.

 

Alfie paused, collecting himself and slowly pushing Arthur further down to lay fully on his belly.

 

“Just a bit quick on the draw love, easy thing to startle at.” Alfie murmured. “Take your time, we’re on your schedule.” He added. Arthur held his hands out openly, tipping his palms upward.

 

“Right, right, just a bit on the quick side. Sorry Tom.” Arthur nodded, feeling very much like crying himself. Crying or killing.

 

It looked like the tears were abating some, or maybe shock had set in or Alfie’s scent had overridden the immediate terror. He watched as Tommy’s bare toes curled miserably against the floor and his fingers worried the coats cuffs. Alfie’s scent grew again, probably protectively, but for Arthur it was nearing oppressive. Tommy seemed to ease with it though, coming out of the jacket more as the scent strengthened.

 

“There we go,” Alfie cooed softly, his hand hadn’t moved, still held loosely near the edge of the table. “Nothing to fear out here.”

 

Tommy inched closer once more, grasping Alfie’s hand and shakily stepping out. In the commotion of finding Tommy and the ensuing fight, Arthur hadn’t had a chance to get a good look at him. Once he’d hidden himself under the table, and then Alfie’s coat, it’d been impossible. If Alfie hadn’t given Tommy his jacket though, Arthur would have. He looked frozen, no shoes and a long shirt. Not even socks. _Not even socks._

 

It looked like they’d taken care to avoid his face, but from what Arthur could see, his ankles, feet and wrists, even his hands were stained black and blue.

 

“Brave thing you are,” Alfie murmured, “Always have been though, haven’t you?” He held Tommy’s hand loosely, helping him stand. Tommy wasn’t prone to weak knees, nor was he easily rattled, so Arthur didn’t expect him to tip over and faint, but he had seen Tommy cry today, so there was a distinct possibility it _could_ happen. However unlikely. Either way he slowly lifted himself to his feet, mindful of the speed and giving Tommy a good amount of space, hanging just close enough to catch him if he fell. “No one, not a soul, ‘cept the ones here or named Shelby, knows about this. Not Ollie, not Sabini, not Major Campbell, no one. Alright? The _secret,_  that Chiswick fucker over there had,” His eyes flashed toward the man. “To pay his debts, has died,” He continued. Arthur sniffed, stomach rolling as he re-evaluated Alfie’s bloody clothes. “In this building.” Alfie nodded.

 

“Ready?” Arthur asked, clearing his throat against Alfie’s scent. At this rate he might as well just jump in the Thames, it felt like Alfie was in his pores. He’d grab Chiswick after Tommy was settled, stow in him the trunk and try to hit every pothole he could. Although Tommy probably wouldn’t like anymore jostling.

 

Tommy turned, slowly taking in the room and letting go of Alfie’s hand to make his way cautiously over to a thin knife sitting near the breeding bench.

 

“Tom,” Arthur jerked, clamping down on the urge to chase after him. Alfie flinched as well, equally unsure of Tommy’s intent. Whether Tommy's had enough, and was too mortified, hurt, or upset? Shock could cause all sorts of reactions according to Polly. He mostly worried Tommy could hurt himself accidentally, he was still terrified, probably unable to see clearly, and had yet to stop shaking. If he wanted a knife to feel safer, Arthur would rather himself or Alfie carry it.

 

“Tommy?” Alfie asked, concern ringing in his voice as well.

 

The knife whipped out, flying faster than either Arthur or Alfie could follow, burying itself deep into Chiswick’s right eye. A roar of pain echoed throughout the room as they stood in shocked silence, blood spilling out as the man screamed. Begging and pleading for someone to make it stop. Tommy stumbled closer, falling on him and grabbing the knife once more, trying to rip it out.

 

Arthur grimaced, wincing as the knife refused to budge, and the man’s pained shrieks grew louder. He didn’t feel sorry for the man, vindictive rather, he felt sorry that Tommy couldn’t get the knife out. Clearly he-

 

The knife pulled free then, spraying Tommy and the floor. Tommy coughed heavily, a wet sound rattling through him as he seemed to debate the best way to kill him. Or maybe how much pain he could leave him in? Who was to say? Tommy’s eyes narrowed as he spun the knife, his usual graces with blades falling away in his exhaustion.

 

He dug the knife deep into the man's neck, cutting him slowly from ear to ear. Well at least now he didn’t have to worry about putting a man in his trunk.

 

Chiswick’s body fell, taking Tommy with it and jumpstarting Arthur to move and catch him, but Alfie was quicker. He always forgot how fast Alfie could move. He’d forgotten how fast Tommy could throw knives too.

 

“He won’t be bothering you anymore, you’ve made quite sure of that, eh treacle?” Alfie said, voice rumbling as Tommy blinked up at him. Confusion crossing his face like he’d forgotten how he’d ended up in the lap of a dead man. All massive blue eyes, covered in blood and holding a knife. “Up we come then?” Alfie leaned down, holding his hands out to pull Tommy up. Tommy dropped the knife, reaching to meet Alfie halfway.

 

They made their way slowly back to Arthur and then the car, Alfie nodding and coaxing Tommy along.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unavoidable doctors appointment and late night thoughts.

-Alfie-

 

The doctor came highly recommended.

 

Doctor James Fields, A beta with a mousy face, and weedy build. He was the only doctor on Alfie’s list who had slightly more positive comments from omega’s than negative.

 

Alfie paused in the doorway, scrubbing a hand through his beard and watching as he spoke with Arthur. He’d just spent about half an hour trying to ask Tommy questions before announcing that he was under a particularly high dosage of opium, and was unwilling to prescribe or perform anything until the strongest of those effects had abated. Unable to follow anything Tommy said, he turned to Alfie and Arthur, asking the usual questions of, _‘Who?’ ‘Where?’_ and _‘Will you be filing a report?’._ He didn’t like any of their answers, but Alfie wasn’t about to tell him Tommy had killed the Chiswick fucker and he’d seen to the rest.

 

“Once a thorough examination has been performed, we’ll typically create a medical plan suited to their needs and take it one step at a time.” Fields said, nodding as Arthur sat heavily, head landing in his hands. Alfie wished suddenly for some tea.

 

They were not going to be able to handle this without tea. Rum too. Or maybe not rum, he didn’t want Tommy to get it in his head that drinking will help.

 

Three days looking for him hadn’t been conducive to keeping the place maintained, or stocked, and the house had seen better days. He’d forgotten to close the window over the sink, leaving it dank and smelling of mildew from the rain. It had never been strong enough to be a storm, but it had been persistent and sudden in its downpours. The only thing he’d managed to keep up was feeding Cyril.

 

The minute they gotten into the house Cyril had attached himself to Tommy’s side, silently herding them into the living room, and later on into their bedroom. Tommy loved Cyril, but he’d never let him on the furniture or onto his lap. He was a massive dog, understandable why he wouldn’t want all that weight on him, but at the present moment, Cyril had yet to move off of Tommy, and Tommy had yet to move him.

 

“I have a few things left to discuss with you both Mr. Solomons, and afterwards I’ll perform a routine wellness check.” Fields said straightening his shoulders.

 

“You’re gonna touch him.”

 

“If necessary, yes.”

 

“Then I’ll be in the room.”

 

“Mr. Solomons,” Fields inhaled heavily, “we generally ask that no one be in the room for the patients comfort and safety-”

 

“And what if it’s for their comfort and safety? I’m not fucking leaving him alone with you.”

 

“Mr. Solomons, it’s absolutely for his own good. In our experience not everyone has had the safest home life, we like patients to feel safe, and have a peaceful space to make sure they have all the help they need.” Fields argued, eyeing him carefully. “No one is immune to pressure when they’re being asked delicate questions, your presence may alter our diagnosis and we may prescribe incorrect treatment.” The doctor added. “It’s for yours and your mates safety, we have had alphas lose their composure before, and no one ever feels safe under those circumstances.”

 

He nodded slowly, heart throbbing painfully as acceptance weaving through him. Fields hummed in agreement, one arm reaching out to guide them back toward the bedroom.

 

Alfie turned, heading back up the stairs, the doctor in tow, dread pooling in his stomach. The doctor knows best, really they do, he’s just doing his job. Fuck his job though. He’s getting in the way of Alfie’s job. Alfie’s one fucking job, make sure Tommy feels loved, and here he was, leaving Tommy alone to this doctor.

 

“Give us a moment eh? I’ll check if he’s up to seeing you again.” He left before Fields could respond, leaving him to his notes as he entered the room.

 

Rain pattered lightly at the windows, drifting in and out, keeping the silence from becoming maddening. Tommy had pushed himself to the furthest corner of the bed, his back to the headboard. He padded lightly over to them, and slid onto the bed, straightening one of the thicker duvets and running a hand through Cyril’s fur, finding some areas quickly growing matted from where Tommy had worried into his fur.

 

“The doctor has been talking to Arthur. So you won’t have to worry about Birmingham or Polly, Arthur will take care of it. Polly’s on her way too, she’d rather you stay here, instead of us going to her.”

 

Tommy blinked at him, large glassy eyes trying to focus. Alfie leaned against the headboard with him, slowly pulling him close and tucking him neatly into his side. Despite the warmth and blankets, he’d bundled himself up. He was still wearing Alfie’s jacket, clinging to it even after they’d gotten home, but now he had at least two sweaters on, soft pants and Alfie’d bet multiple socks. Layers of masked rotten holly.

 

Alfie worried if he should pull something off to keep him from overheating, but was unsure how to ask, especially as he seemed less aware than even moments ago, eyes slipping uncoordinatedly around the room.

 

“He seems a little cold, the doctor. Don’t you think?”

 

Tommy shook his head, his forehead creasing anxiously.

 

A polite knock echoed through the room, startling them both. Cyril wheezed, leaning down to rest his head in Tommy’s lap.

 

“Tommy,” He started, breathing deeply and gathering himself. “He’s got to do a physical check, alright? Incase of, of,” His voice died out, unable to drag the words out of himself. “But if you don’t want him in here, say the word and I’ll throw him out.”

 

“No-no, I’ll listen,” Tommy slurred, struggling to sit up. Alfie couldn’t say for sure if Tommy knew what he’d said, but hopefully he’d let him know if he felt uncomfortable.

 

He had never in his life wanted to send someone in less. Everything stank. Reeking of unsaid feelings and thoughts someone had put in Tommy’s head. Worst of all was the nervous edge to his voice, cutting painfully, deeply, into Alfie, as if Tommy now thought not listening was somehow deserving of punishment, even though Tommy rarely ever listened.

 

Shaking his head slightly, he made his way to the door, still trying to process everything himself. He almost wished Arthur would come upstairs and start a fight, or argue. Something to establish a sense of normality, but in an uncharacteristic twist, Arthur had turned agreeable. Agreeable, thoughtful, attentive. Things Alfie had never seen Arthur do, nor thought he was capable of. Although, Tommy had mentioned how considerate Arthur could be when he put his mind to it. He threw a look at Tommy, double checking he was settled and opened the door.

 

“Mr. Solomons,” Fields said before turning and nodding to Tommy. “I just wanted to go over some precautions and or worries going forward that your mate or yourself might have.” He stepped into the room, heading to a large armchair. “This part will mostly be towards you, as Mr. Shelby may not follow everything we talk about, but most of it’s common sense solutions that can often go overlooked.”

 

“Common sense,” Alfie repeated.

 

“Right, easy things to miss. The first of which,” He pulled a list out of his notebook, and clasped his hands together. “One of the questions we’re frequently asked is, ‘How do I avoid this happening again,’ and since we don’t know the identity of his attacker, only the location, an easy solution is having someone to walk home with at night. Who normally walks him home at night?” He asked, ticking the list as he spoke.

 

“What?” Alfie asked, a dangerous pit forming in his stomach.

 

“London is a dangerous city, it’s easy to get caught up in its fun nightlife, but having someone to walk with can help with safety. Do you, or a trusted family member walk him home?”

 

Tommy squinted, looking unsurely between the two of them. Some semblance of clarity forming behind his eyes for a moment.

 

No one walked Tommy home. He’d never have allowed it. A thick wash of guilt rushed over him, old fears whispering in his mind about Tommy wandering dangerous streets on his own. _‘It’s a modern city, omegas deserve their freedom just as much as anyone else!’_ Tommy’s argued back, his voice ringing  inside his head.

 

“If you’re busy, perhaps a curfew? Before dark is generally our recommendation, but that doesn’t always suit everyone’s needs.”

 

“Hold up.” Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you saying a curfew would have prevented this? You think Tommy, a grown man, should have a curfew?”

 

“Curfews tend to curtail assaults Mr. Solomons.”

 

“At the cost of their happiness, have you ever met a person happy to live in a cage?”

 

“It’s not a cage Mr. Solomons, he is free to explore London-”

 

“From dawn till dusk and not a moment after, is that really what you’re telling me?”

 

“Alfie.” Tommy whispered, fighting the fog that seemed to hang over him.

 

Alfie jerked, whipping his head around to look at Tommy. The holly wasn’t rotten anymore, but cloying, desperately trying to sweeten.

 

“You’ve warned me b‘fore,” Tommy swallowed, struggling to get his words out. “A-about walking alone, and you were right, I didn’t listen and I should’ve, I-” He huffed, words dying as his fingers twisted into Cyril’s fur, large blue eyes pleading.

 

“No, no Tommy,” Alfie’s heart broke, the image of Tommy coming and going at all hours for business deals and meetings, appearing slightly more bloody or a little beaten up, but triumphant and proud echoing in his mind. The holly sweetened further, begging Alfie to agree.

 

“Most people _do_ walk their mates home Mr. Solomons.” Fields sniffed. “However, sometimes, even during the day things can happen. Tommy, given your presentation, it can be unwise to explore more dangerous areas. If Mr. Solomons has mentioned this before, perhaps conducting meetings in an approved office, one Mr. Solomons can inspect?” He nodded sympathetically.

 

Alfie’s fists tightened, and his back ached. Anger building and forcing himself to breathe calmly the more the doctor spoke. _Highly recommended_. Highly recommended to fuck himself. Blaming being alone, blaming just existing in a bad area for this!

 

“We don’t need to go through all the prevention cautions on the list, our goal is to have a plan. I’ll leave it here for you both to consult when you’re more settled.” He went on, eyeing Alfie and the growing tension in the room. “Mr. Solomons, I think it might be better if I saw to Mr. Shelby now, so he can get some rest and I can speak with you downstairs after.”

 

Tommy pushed himself closer to the headboard, breathing quicker. Confused and nervous eyes barrelling into Alfie.

 

“He’s keeping Cyril.” Alfie said, his heart breaking as Tommy flinched and Fields nodded, his eyebrows quirking as he flipped open a new file. _It’s for his own safety, for his own safety._

 

“Tommy, it’s very routine,” Fields coaxed lowly, “And a very quick procedure,” He continued. “Very private as well, just between us, not even Mr. Solomons.”

 

“Just to make sure you’re alright. You’ll be ok.” Alfie added. ‘ _Not everyone feels safe, Not everyone feels comfortable.’_ Repeating over and over in his head. “They want you to feel safe, and comfortable, alright?” What if Tommy doesn’t feel safe with him anymore? He should’ve been with him, should've walked him home.

 

Alfie stepped over to them as Cyril sat up again, whining lowly, Tommy’s eyes widening as he came closer.

 

“It’ll be fast love, fast and then he’ll be gone and it’ll be done.” He whispered, thumbs rubbing over his temple. Tommy clutched at his arm, struggling to grab ahold. “You can do this, you’ve been so brave today.” Alfie murmured, kissing lightly at Tommy’s forehead. “I swear you can do this, I’ve seen you do scarier things before breakfast.”

 

Tommy breathed shakily, pushing his face close into Alfie’s shirt and nodding slowly. Alfie pressed a kiss into his hair, whispering encouragingly and loosening his fingers.

 

“I’ll be outside, I promise.” He brushed lightly through his hair. “One word, and I’ll be here.”

 

Fields herded him out quickly, wafting a hand through the heavy bonfire he’d been unable to keep contained. The door shut with a soft click, leaving him alone in the miserably dark hallway.

 

He should pace. Pacing was supposed to help. Pacing kept him moving and his mind in the present, what would happen next, and how they’ll handle it. Memories of the opium den stole through his thoughts as he worried. The image of Tommy jerking away from him, terrified and trembling jolting into him mind. Of seething, shaking furiously and turning to grab Tommy, keep him safe for once, only for Tommy to crumble to the ground, and push himself beneath that fucking table. Fucking terrible thing he did, grabbing at a person that scared.

 

He coughed harshly as more distraught and rotten holly soured the hallway. _Tommy might not be truthful with him in there, might not get the care he needs, might not feel safe._ Hardly one minute had passed, and sitting out here isn’t making it pass any faster. He headed for his study, nearly slamming into the door, before throwing it open and finding any paperwork to force himself to focus on.

 

There were always some bills to be paid or accounts to be worked on. That awful room hung dully in his mind though, and his hands couldn’t help but remind him. Swollen and red, bloody and raw from where he’d lost control. Trembling around the pen as he tried to write.

 

The doctor knocked on the door frame then, peeking inside.

 

“Shall we talk Mr. Solomons?”

 

Alfie nodded, sluggishly pulling himself up and feeling very much like crawling into bed with Tommy and waking up from this nightmare. The floor croaked beneath his feet, an unusual sense of vertigo tangling his legs and forcing him to focus and calm down. Whatever the doctor said, the worst was behind them. It had to be. Chiswick was dead and no one else knew what happened.

 

“I did a physical check, as I informed you,”

 

“Yeah.” He rasped, a dead feeling sinking inside himself.

 

“And there are signs of rape.” He said quickly, clasping his hands softly. “I’m going to recommend a few procedures, which I can do as soon as I’m comfortable prescribing anesthesia. He was extremely unwilling to allow me close, as was the dog, and I will only perform medical treatment if he is under anesthesia and I can be suitably sure he won’t unintentionally hurt himself-”

 

Alfie blanked for a moment. The word ‘unwilling’ sinking in his brain. It was an odd word choice, considering Tommy’s position, who would want to be touched again? Especially by someone they didn’t know? ‘Unwilling to allow me close’ but he must’ve allowed him close enough, he must’ve.

 

“Did he ask you to stop?” Alfie asked quickly, the phrasing biting at him too much to let it go.

 

“I can come by in the morning, the opium should run its course by then.”

 

“Did he ask you to stop?” Alfie repeated, anger and guilt building in his stomach.

 

“No, Mr. Solomons. He didn’t. He was very confused, and mostly asked for you, but even he realized-”

 

“And you didn’t come get me!? Why the fuck would I have told him to ask for me if you weren’t going to listen to him!?” Alfie yelled, grabbing the doctor’s collar and shoving him backwards.

 

“Mr. Solomons!” Fields shouted, frustratedly at him. “Mr. Solomons, it’s procedure, we can’t help if we don’t know!”

 

“You heard me in there! You fucking heard me say, one word and I’ll be here!” Alfie screamed, anger boiling over, pouring out of him. He shoved the doctor backwards again, slamming him into the wall.

 

“Alfie! Fuck!” Arthur was there then, tearing the doctor out of his grip and pushing him back near their bedroom. “Alfie, calm the fuck down, go check on Tommy.” Petrichor breezed around him, itching at his nose. “Go make sure he’s got what he needs.” He slowly pulled the doctor further away, waving a hand at him and nodding.

 

Alfie’s eyes slammed shut, breathing deeply and trying to quell the roaring anger. His scent billowed down the hallway, quickly overtaking the Arthur’s rainy one and strengthening as he tapped on their bedroom door.

 

Pushing the door open he paused, finding the room empty, or rather, the bed empty. Fucking fuck fuck fuck. Fucking highly recommended fucking doctor. Fucking shit.

 

Rotten holly still hung about the room, so they were in here. He dodged around the bed, heading to the bathroom, but froze as he passed his desk.

 

The opium den tearing into the forefront of his mind again, of seeing Tommy petrified, and hiding under a table. He wasn’t sure how many more times that image would sear it’s way into his mind.

 

Crouching down just before the drawers, he peeked around the corner, finding Tommy tilting nervously away from him. Tears trailing down his cheeks. Cyril sitting patiently in front Tommy, his eyes following Alfie. Not panting or lolling, as was his natural state, but watchful.

 

_Highly fucking recommended piece of shit._

 

“Did he say or do anything to hurt you?” Tommy’d never let Alfie protect him like this. He’d never let Alfie even consider protecting him like this. “You could’ve told him to stop, I need you to you know that. If you didn’t want to, that’s alright too.” He said. “But you didn’t have to do a damn thing that fucker, or anyone else says. If you want me here I’ll be here.” He said, frustration snapping in his tone.

 

“Should’ve listened,” Tommy nodded terrifiedly, hands fisting into Cyril’s fur. “Should've listened better.”

 

“No, it’s not your-you didn’t do anything wrong sweetheart.” Alfie’s heart clenched. Fuck. Arthur was right, he had to calm down. Tommy didn’t need his anger. He tried to catch his eyes, hoping to find some ounce of his usual courage or spark, but he’d buried his face into Cyril’s fur, hiding his face. “One more tunnel love. We’re going to dig ourselves out of this, I promise.” He whispered.

 

-Tommy-

 

He was too hot. Too sweaty. Fucking opium withdrawals. The closet was too dark and too tall, but the blankets were thick enough, padding the walls and floor. It smelled musty, but it was better than the bed. Alfie was in the bed, it was wide open and he was so sore.

 

He still had business to do. Business can’t stop because of this. Sabini at two tomorrow, and some dock workers that had been upcharging Uncle Charlie later. He wasn’t sure why they needed the doctor again tomorrow too, but Arthur had been telling him Fields would be back in the morning, to fix him, or fix something. He’d blanked out before Arthur could finish the conversation, confusion stealing his focus and sending his thoughts colliding.

 

His head tipped backwards, hitting the wall, misery growing at his stupidity and confusion. They’d told him, he remembered that they’d explained that the doctor was going to look, and he’d still been confused. And when he’d asked for Alfie, asked for him multiple times, the doctor just kept talking, continually holding his hands aside. Constant words rushing over him without stopping, _‘We’ll be done soon enough, it’ll be faster to finish and then get your mate, I promise you’re fine, it’s very normal to feel anxious.’_

 

Tremors took over again, a cold sweat breaking out everywhere, adding to the damp. Dull aches building into sharper pains. Why hadn’t the doctor gotten Alfie? Nausea swirled in his stomach threateningly, itching to come up.

 

Alfie had said he could ask for him though, and he had, he had! He couldn’t escape this new crippling fear. A deeply awful terror that screamed through him if he didn’t listen. If he didn’t behave-

 

_‘Omegas listen,’ He pulled hard on the straps holding his arms, ‘They behave, or else look what happens. So it’s really your own fault, now isn’t it?’_

 

A sharp whine whistled down the hallway, tearing him from the memory. He bolted upwards, nearly collided with the door. Cyril! Cyril probably smelled him and knew he wasn’t with them. Hopefully he wouldn’t wake Alfie. Alfie wouldn’t like finding him here. He should move, try and sit in the bed with Alfie.

 

The blankets caught and tangled around his ankles though, twisting and keeping him still as he tried to get up. Calm down, you’re not tied down! He tore at a sheet, ripping it off and pushing it to the side.

 

Cyril crept closer, nails clicking on the floor as he walked. His whine growing stronger, or maybe that was Tommy. It was hard to tell. He froze as a knock echoed, his heart beating wildly.

 

“Tommy?”

 

The closet door inched open, creaking lowly. Cyril huffed a greeting and laid down, head pillowed on his paws as Alfie crouched next to him, hand still on the door knob.

 

“Closet feels safer?” Alfie asked, eyeing the blankets.

 

No. No, the closet didn’t feel safer. The bed didn’t feel safe though either, and telling Alfie that wasn’t going to make it safe. It wasn’t Alfie’s fault all of this had happened. His own fault, the doctor had even said so. He shouldn’t have been alone, even though it hadn’t ever been a problem before, no one had ever attacked so suddenly-

 

“Tommy, Tommy, you’re alright. Jesus, got yourself right bundled into here,” Calming, coaxing bonfire flooded the closet, easing his racing mind as Alfie’s hand appeared, just outside the door. “Just gonna get you situated, alright? Maybe a bath too, it looks like the opiums running its course. We’ll come back to the closet though, alright?”

 

He didn’t want a bath, despite the damp sweat. There was nothing protecting his back in the bath. Naked and exposed. That wasn’t entirely true, Alfie would make sure he was safe. He’d already gone and got him out of the opium den though, how many more times was he expected to come to his rescue? How many was too many? What if this was it? The biggest fuck up of them all, all because Tommy wouldn’t listen. How could Alfie be expected to save him from his own stupidity?

 

“Please, please Tommy, you’re safe,” Alfie reached slowly into the closet, gently untangling the blankets from his legs, and pushing them to the side. “It doesn’t feel like it right now, I know, but we’re going to help, you’re not going to be alone.” The last blanket pulled free and Alfie inched closer, holding both hands near, still not close enough to touch. Alfie caught his eyes, nodding gently at him.

 

_‘Do as I say, do as I say or-’_

 

He lurched forward on shaky legs, leaning over and taking his hands. He didn’t deserve Alfie, this was all his own fault and Alfie didn’t deserve to deal with him. The man, that awful, painful man, Tommy never learned his name, but even he’d said Tommy wasn’t a good listener. But he could listen, he could! He could listen, do whatever Alfie asked, that way, Alfie wouldn’t leave. He could make up for this. He’d promised himself, if he ever got back home, he’d listen.

 

Alfie gently pulled him upwards, tucking him close and nudging the blankets further into the closet. He wrapped a strong arm behind his back, keeping him warm against the cool hallway.

 

“Bath first, to get you properly warm. Then we can see about those blankets.” Alfie said.

 

“Ok.” Tommy whispered, tremors erupting again as he clung to him.

 

A bath sounded horrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please comment below! They make my day! ❤️


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, with follow up appt’s, and plans are tentatively made. Or at least discussed.

-Arthur-

 

Watery, grey daylight rippled through the drapes, rousing birds and factory men alike. No rain this morning. Fuck London.

 

Springs dug into Arthur’s back, poking and prodding him as he rolled over. Growing up, he’d kipped out on too many shitty couches to remember. Whether he was too drunk, high, broken and bloody to get home, it really didn’t matter, but this couch topped them all.

 

Watching Tommy tip-toe down the stars in the night, pain obvious on his face for once, had been fucking awful. The absolute worst. He’d padded anxiously through the house, head on a swivel, never settling on one thing as he collected blankets from one room and wore them into the next. He’d gone through the office Arthur was in four or five times before curling up in the corner. Less sweaty, and a bit cleaner, but even trembling harder than before.

He wasn’t in the corner anymore though. Probably escaped back upstairs when he figured Alfie would be waking up. His blankets were gone as well. The small nest he’d built disassembled and spread across the house once more.

 

Not sleeping then.

 

He pulled himself up, joints popping and bones creaking, and set off for the kitchen. Alfie made rum for a living, there had to be alcohol in the house. Something to dull the pain that hadn’t stopped throbbing in his heart.

 

He padded through the kitchen, dark wood cool beneath his feet as he dug through the cabinets, pulling down half empty jars and cans. Apparently Alfie didn’t keep food. Or maybe Arthur had grown too used to living around Esme. Esme and John and their five kids, who constantly ate and so there was constantly food.

 

Footsteps echoed slowly through the hallway, intermingled with a faint clicking. It wasn’t even rotten anymore, the holly. It just smelled dead now.

 

Tommy rounded the corner, stopping short as he spotted Arthur and staring at him in shock. Or maybe fear? It was hard to tell anymore.

 

“Morning Tom,” He said quietly, turning toward him with one hand still deep in the cupboard. Alfie’s jacket was still tucked tight around him with Cyril on his right. The rules from yesterday swung into his mind. _Don’t go too close, don’t stand over him, and don’t move too fast._

 

Cyril huffed, sniffing through the air for a moment and laying down, resting his head on Tommy’s feet.

 

“You’re up early, not even six yet.” He was always up early, of course he’d be wandering around. What was he supposed to say though? There was nothing he _could_ say. “I uh, I don’t think there’s any food. I can go get something though, if you’re hungry?” Maybe he should just go buy some cigarettes and whiskey? Tommy liked those. “What about some, uh, some,” His hands came up, trying to find the word.

 

Tommy just kept staring at him though, watching. Quietly. Dead eyed, and exhausted. Looking more defeated than possibly ever. Worse than coming back from France even. Maybe he’d be ok if Arthur gave him a small hug, or just held his hand? Told him it was going to be alright? He looked broken. Tommy wouldn’t like him bringing it up though, the-

 

Where the fuck was Polly. She was supposed to be here last night. They’d found him yesterday around midnight. How long did it take to get to London?

 

“Bread!” He half shouted, jolting them both as the word sprinted into his brain. Tommy twisted, darting back down the hallway, Cyril following quickly. He pushed his palms into his eyes, groaning frustratedly. Where the fuck is Polly?

 

No one moved much in the following hour, slowly greeting the dull morning. Alfie eventually appeared, looking worse as well. He’d spent a few minutes pursing his lips at empty cabinets and disappeared to make a phone call and get some food. Arthur nearly volunteered to go, but worried if something happened. Having one person to stay with Tommy and another to leave felt safer.

 

Ollie had just left after dropping off food when Polly finally stepped through the door. Burnt and angry cider stinging at Arthur’s nose as she gently set her bag down.

 

She’d driven through the night, going by the state of her. Hair unpinned and dark circles beneath her eyes. Alfie leaned against the counter, brushing a hand through his beard as she pulled her coat off and threw it over a chair.

 

“What did the doctor say?” She asked.

 

“About uh-” Arthur started, stuttering.

 

“Yes or no.” She pulled out a cigarette case, tapping one out and lighting it.

 

“Yeah.” Alfie answered for him. “Rape.”

 

Polly nodded, sucking smoke deep into her lungs. They stared at each other for a moment, Polly still slowly nodding and Alfie stared blankly forward. Birds chirped outside, fitting around the alleyway clotheslines.

 

“Is he upstairs?” She asked, pointing her cigarette upwards. Alfie nodded, standing and stepping toward the hallway. The cider burned deeper.

 

“The doctor will be here again in an hour. I can call him though, if that’s too soon.” Arthur said, eyeing the clock.

 

“No, the faster the better.” Polly called, heading up the stairs behind him.

 

-Polly-

 

“This,” Polly held up a vial, tilting it toward the light. “Is the painkiller, he’s written the dosage based on the time of day.” She said, setting it on the bedside table. “Daytime dosage is on the left, night on the right.” Paging through a few more of the doctors notes, she collected the more necessary ones into a pile.

 

“Morphine?” Alfie asked.

 

“Among other things.” Polly said, placing the pile lightly in her lap. “I don’t like this Doctor, but he’s better than anything we would’ve found in Birmingham.” She ran a hand through Tommy’s hair, grimacing at the slight fever.

 

The doctor had come and gone, stitching Tommy up and leaving a trail of medication in his wake. Pills and liquids for nerves, anxiety, pain, and insomnia. A collection of bottles and tablets littering their dresser, each one with a prescription attached.

 

Medicate them to death and maybe they’ll forget about what happened. The scent of antiseptic still hung in the air, although Alfie’s bonfire was quickly burning through it.

 

Leaning over, she straightened his blankets again, resettling them higher and pushing Cyril left and right as she fussed with the cover. The dog was more helpful than she’d anticipated. Cyril’s presence seemed to keep him from bolting, and disappearing to other parts of the house, but no amount of coaxing had eased Tommy enough to stay still with Fields near him again, and they’d ended up needing to sedate him.

 

“I don’t like it.” Arthur mumbled from his chair, hand pressed firmly into his chin.

 

“No one does, but we handle what we can and move forward.” Polly said, sitting back and opening her bag, rifling through.

 

“Fucker’s already dead. Nowhere to go.” Arthur murmured, voice wavering.

 

“Tommy doesn’t write down his appointments, but I spoke with Lizzie. Arthur, you and the boys are going to have to step in for a while.” She sniffed, pulling out a diary and address book and standing to hand them to Arthur. “Some of them may be in London, and others in Birmingham. You’ll have to separate them out.”

 

“Pol,” Arthur whined, clutching at the books, a hurt look crossing him face.

 

“We don’t have time for you to get emotional about this, it’s happened, and when Tommy is ready, we’ll work on it. Until then, we work on what we can.”

 

 _When Tommy is ready._ Bold assumption. He might never be ready. She’d yet to meet someone who’d been raped and willing to talk about it, to work on their fears. Maybe that was Birmingham though? She shook her head, staring down at his sleeping form. A small shock of dark hair peeked out at her, the only sign someone was even there.

 

She folded down the edge of the cover, giving him some breathing room. He still felt warm, but his eyes weren’t pinched, and he didn’t look too in pain. Although it was always hard to tell with the older boys.

 

A fierce anger burned for a moment, stabbing through her heart. Almost making her wish they’d kept one or two alive. The words she’d taught her boys ringing in her thoughts. _‘Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders’_. They were older now, and capable of handling themselves. Sometimes though, in quiet moments, she could see them small again. Small and sweet.

 

She should’ve given him more, more knives or guns. Anything.

 

“Pol!” Arthur said hurriedly, lurching upwards and breaking through her thoughts. “Don’t you think maybe we should slow down for a fucking minute?”

 

“What did I just say?” She snapped, whipping around to stare at him, cider burning again.

 

“Quiet.” Alfie said, watching as the dog perked his head up, draping himself over Tommy’s slowly rising shoulders. “But yeah.” He threw his hands up. “Polly’s right. This shit doesn’t stop, so we have to fucking handle it.”

 

“We can fucking,” Arthur started loudly, annoyance obvious on his face. His voice lowered as Polly’s eyes narrowed. “We can fucking handle it, that’s not my issue.” He whispered, throwing the books onto the armchair and moving to grab her bag. “Where’s your fuckin-”

 

Polly tore the bag out of his hands and yanked a flask of whiskey out, shoving it into Arthur’s chest.

 

“Is this how you’re handling it?” She asked, staring angrily up at him.

 

“Business, we can handle Pol,” He unscrewed the cap, downing a good portion. “I’m not talking about business, I assumed we’d be taking over for a bit. I’m talking about-”

 

“You should be having this conversation in the hall.” Alfie said, folding his hands in his lap. “He’s medicated, yeah, but hearing angry voices doesn’t make for easy sleeping, does it?”

 

“We all should be having this conversation. You’re in this too.” Polly nodded at him.

 

Alfie stood up, whistling at Cyril and grunting a quick ‘ _Stay_ ’ as he opened the door, holding a hand out for them to leave with him.

 

They followed quickly, stepping quietly through the hallway and back down the stairs. Alfie must’ve let Tommy decorate, going by the paintings of horses and open fields. It was a nice house though. Nice dark wooden floors, plush runners and thick drapes to keep the heat in. Darker red even, similar to the ones back in Small Heath. She wondered if that was a conscious decision.

 

The office seemed more Alfie’s, possibly because Tommy was his own office, but there was a distinct lack of paintings and files were scattered over the desk.

 

Polly hadn’t spent a great amount of time in their house, disliking London and its gritty air and worse smells. She’d been inside their house maybe once or twice since Tommy and Alfie had mated, but had only barely stepped past the kitchen. It was their house, not a place she felt she should stick her nose into. If Tommy had an issue, or concern, she’d always hoped he’d trusted her enough to say something. He’d certainly always deferred to her over ‘affairs of the heart’ as they called it.

 

“Speak your piece Arthur, then we handle business.” Polly nodded at him, pacing between two windows.

 

“Right, what I was saying. You didn’t see him.” Arthur’s face took on a distraught, haunted look. “I don’t know how much he’ll bounce back from this. What I’m asking is-is if he might be done?”

 

She hadn’t, he was right. Alfie’s telephone call had been all she had for seven or eight hours, most of it spent driving. ‘ _We found him, don’t know what they’ve done to him, he looks drugged. We pulled him off a breeding bench-’_ She shuddered.

 

“We won’t know, until we do know.” She said, stepping over to him and carding a hand through his hair. “So until then, we keep things afloat.” Sighing softly, she pulled out another cigarette and seated herself next to Arthur, nodding at Alfie to begin.

 

“I have a few things coming up, but nothing important enough that I have to attend.” Alfie started, eyeing the tea as he seated himself behind his desk. “What did Lizzie say about Tommy?”

 

“You two don’t discuss them?” Arthur asked

 

“No. Never been that way mate, separate but equal, innit?” Alfie stacked a few folders and shoved them to the side.

 

“Damage control first, Lizzie had a telegram several days ago from the Lee’s asking about Tommy’s absence from one of their weekly meetings, he attends when one of our horses runs and they were concerned when he didn’t show.” Polly said.

 

Once Tommy had disappeared she’d begun collecting the telegrams and notes that came to the door, praying as she ripped each and every one of them open, hoping he’d written and was stuck in a broken down car, or a boat that breached a canal. Her heart sinking deeper and deeper with every note. It wasn’t odd for him to disappear for a day, but three with no note. Everyone had begun worrying.

 

“And Campbell. They had a meeting planned. I don’t know what about, or when, but he made a point to find me and let me know Tommy missed it.” She hissed. “Making up a meeting with him is not going to be easy. He’ll ask questions.”

 

“Right. Campbell.” Alfie brushed a hand through his beard and folded his hands. “Tommy’s dealt him before, they have a very,” He paused, brow creasing as he struggled to find the word. “Delicate relationship. Campbell needs him, and vice versa. Tommy’s said before that he’s a liar though. He might’ve just noticed him missing.”

 

They continued piecing together various notes and times in Lizzie’s diary and address book, putting together a schedule of meetings they knew he missed based on telegrams and notes, and meeting they hoped weren’t massively important. Luckily the more important ones were written down, or Lizzie had made a note of at least.

 

They’d been at it for over an hour, tempers rising, flask empty, when they heard steps on the stairs. Alfie had launched out of his chair, darting out of the room, herself and Arthur quickly following suit.

 

-Tommy-

 

Everything was spinning. Too many people had put too many things in him.

 

He shoved the blankets down, cold air slipping down around his neck, ringing shivers from him as he inched upwards and sat delicately against the headboard. Opium had only just finished clouding him, and now new, nauseating medication, making his fingers go numb, and his tongue feel thick. That terrifying doctor had been back, he’d been back and then, then he couldn’t remember. Blank spaces leaving confusing gaps in his memory.

 

He remembered Alfie finding him, and bits and pieces of the car ride home. Petrichor hanging around them as they drove, so Arthur had been there, or maybe it rained more than usual. He’d sat through that awful bath, keeping as still as he could as Alfie tried to help him, but ultimately shaking too hard for Alfie to keep him in the water long.

 

“Is it too cold? It’s too fucking cold. Sweetheart, just tell me, tell me it’s too cold for you.” Alfie had been reminding him, over and over. He could remember that, but why couldn’t he remember when the doctor left?

 

Scratching at his eyes and breathing deeply, he reached over to the bedside table, grabbing at the pocket watch Alfie always kept in the room. Dull aches echoing through his ribs, waking sharper pains lower, stabbing down his backside.

 

_Hold still you fucking bitch-_

 

A sharp whine cut through the memory. Cyril was sitting up and blinked at him, crawling closer to lay over his lap, but Tommy brought his knees up, wrapping his arms tightly around them.

 

Too many medications. That’s all this is. Too many medications, making his hands shake and his knees feels weak. He didn’t have time for this. It was nearly noon, he needed to clear his head and form a plan to deal with Sabini. All the rest of them too, all the meetings and deals he’d missed while-

 

He shook his head fiercely and slowly moved to stand, holding tightly to the headboard as he slid off the bed. Eyes slamming shut as new aches and pains roused, bruised ankles taking the brunt of his weight for a moment.

 

Cyril landed on the floor next to him, circling and whining lowly. If this was how long it took to stand, he’d have to leave now, walking to the meeting was going to take a while.

 

Stumbling over to the dresser, he fumbled with the knobs. Trembling fingers struggling to grasp them. Once they pulled free he dug out trousers, and a waistcoat. Cyril was thankfully never more than an inch away, his warm body pressed close to his thigh and sturdy when he stumbled and needed to balance on him.

 

Pausing at the door, his head dropped against the frame, exhausted shudders running down his back. The room had spun faster and faster as he dressed, and an uncomfortable slick feeling had begun dripping down his thighs.

 

An odd pain lanced through his chest, stabbing at his heart. He’d grown up with aches and pains. Pain wasn’t unusual, there was always broken bones or fractured knuckles. Fighting in the war had been no different either, so why was this so much harder? Why? Why hadn’t he just listened to Alfie? Not been alone. If he’d just listened, he wouldn’t be like this. Alfie wouldn’t have needed to rescue him, he would’ve come home and Alfie would’ve given him a kiss and they’d have gone upstairs and, and-

 

He dropped his forehead lightly against the door frame. Sighing in relief as the cool wood soothed the heat that had been building. Faint scents reached his nose then, reminding him of everyone in the house.

 

Cider, petrichor, and bonfires. Each in varying degrees of distress and anger.

 

They were never going to let him leave.

 

His eyes slid open, heart dropping. Alfie was never going to let him leave. And he’d promised to listen to Alfie.

 

He’d promised.

 

This was his problem. He didn’t listen. He never listened. Even that awful man had said so _, he never listens._

 

He had to go though. He’d already been missing for days. An important meeting like Sabini’s wouldn’t go unnoticed. People would put two and two together, they’d realize. They’d know where he was. They’d know what happened.

 

Maybe ask? A voice he couldn’t recognize whispered in his mind. He could ask? Make himself pretty again, make himself smell nice. No one wanted this rotten holly, that’s unpleasant. Give Alfie big eyes and ask?

 

He’d have to leave Cyril, Cyril was already too much of a crutch. They’d never let him go on his own if he brought the dog. He’d have to show he could be alone again, alone and fine.

 

Grabbing at the doorknob, he muttered a quick, _‘Stay’._ His sweaty fingers slipped around the handle as he struggled to twist it open, trying desperately to block out Cyril’s whining as he finally managed it. His heart thundered as he crept down the hallway, ‘P _lease can I go to the meeting?’ ‘If I don’t go they’ll know,’ ‘Alfie, I have a meeting, I know it’s probably not what you want to hear. ‘_ A breath shuddered through him as he braced against the railing of the stairs, and tried to sweeten his scent. Ignoring the slick feeling that had yet to stop dripping down his legs.

 

“Tommy!”

 

He jerked, slipping on the steps and falling backwards, fear tearing through his heart as a shape dove at him, catching under his arms.

 

Faces blurred around him, people he couldn’t scent pushing and pulling at him. The opium den bleeding into his vision with tight, strong hands dragging him upwards.

 

“You’re alright, you’re good, just breathe,” Someone pulled him close, forcing his arms still. A shape whine tore out of him as he tugged hard on the hands. They refused to let go, tightening further as he shoved and scratched.

 

“Tommy!”

 

The floor appeared beneath his knees then, sturdy, but soft, and the hands let go as well. He scrambled backwards until his back hit a wall.

 

“Tommy, you’re home. Feel the floor. Feels soft right? Like the carpet in the house?” The voice asked worriedly, blurry faced, colors running together too much to tell who it was. “Scent the hallway love, what does it smell like?”

 

Terrible. Like acrid holly, and waterlogged bonfires.

 

He blinked through the haze, terror ebbing as Alfie’s face appeared arms reach away. He shouldn’t be kneeling on the floor, his knees probably hurt.

 

“There you go, you’re safe.” Alfie’s hands were low, brushing softly over the carpet. “Gave us a scare for a second, thought you’d be out for a while longer,” He paused, inching closer, hands held wide. “You don’t have to worry about anything love, sleeping is probably best right now, sleeping or laying down.”

 

“I have,” He whispered, his throat closing up on him, choking his words as a shadow crept up behind Alfie.

 

“What do you have Tommy?” Alfie asked, waving a hand at the shadow.

 

“A meet- a meeting.”

 

“A meeting?” Alfie asked again.

 

Tommy nodded fiercely, his heart thundered in his chest and pins and needles breaking out down his legs.

 

“Sabini.”

 

“No-no, love no.”

 

“Everyone will know, if I don’t go.” He whispered brokenly. “They'll know, they’ll-” his voice died in his throat, unsaid words twisting and decaying in his mind.

 

“Fuck.” A voice murmured from the stairs, Arthur’s by the sound of it.

 

“Tommy.” Polly was talking, appearing in his line of vision, sinking to her knees next to Alfie. When had Polly gotten here? She was in Birmingham, wasn’t she? “If you go in this condition,” Her hands shook as she spoke and her eyes pleading with him. “It’ll be just as damning if you don’t.”

 

Then no matter what happened, everyone would know. There was nothing he could do. Attend or don’t attend. Questions would still be asked, and people would assume things. They’d make remarks or try and take advantage, give pitying looks. He’d seen what happened growing up, he’d seen how people were treated.

 

“Up we come now, eh?” Alfie nodded, holding his hand out.

 

Tommy shook his head again. He still wanted to go, attending still felt more like hiding the truth than not. What happened to everything he’d planned? He was going to ask, and make himself prettier and smell nicer.

 

Had he asked?

 

Blank spots were appearing again, how had he wound up on the floor? He’d gotten dressed, he remembered that, he was finally wearing his own clothes. But how had he gotten here?

 

He shakily pushed himself closer to the wall, tremors rattling down his back. Where had the last few minutes gone? Everything was swimming, colors shifting and bleeding into one another. He slammed his eyes shut as nausea crawled up his stomach. Where was Cyril?

 

Bonfires flooded his senses then, cutting through his confusion and fear. Bonfires and Alfie.

 

Bonfire’s were safe.

 

“Here we go,” A quiet voice rumbled in his ear as a hand brushed carefully around his back, slowly and gently lifting him and tucking him closer to the scent. “You’re so warm Tommy, just focus on sleeping alright?” A bark echoed past his ears and fur swept through his arms as he was settled back into the bed. Heavy blankets drawn up around his shoulders once more.

 

He blinked one eye open, desperately trying to see through the thick haze.

 

“This is going to help with the fever now, alright? Pain too, just to help you sleep. Not going to taste very friendly though, ok?” There were already too many numbing things rushing through him, leaving him reeling and confused, never quite sure.

 

Pinching his shut again, he tilted his face into the pillow. Fingers carded lightly through his hair as the scent of bonfire soaked deeper into the bed.

 

“Come on Tommy, please.”

 

Listen to Alfie. He’d promised to listen to Alfie. Do everything he told him. He could remember that much.

 

Nodding seemed too difficult, but he turned his head and opened his mouth slightly, grimacing as Alfie gave him a spoonful of something. His hands came up, covering his eyes and mouth then, silently asking not to have anymore. Everything settled after that, leaving him feeling even more air headed and with much less movement to focus on. He could still feel Alfie next to him, but he smelled even more waterlogged than earlier.

 

His last conscious thought was of nervous worry, as Arthur’s scent flooded the room when he mentioned a telegram from Sabini.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Tommy. It’s rough right now. Thank you so so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment below! They make my day. ❤️


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon finding some new information, Polly considers the situation and comes to a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a nightmare! So many rewrites!

-Alfie-

 

A knock echoed through the house seconds after he’d settled Tommy back into bed. Arthur had disappeared down the stairs, a distraught look on his face as he escaped the bedroom. 

 

He wasn’t sure how much more his heart could take. Watching Tommy panic in the hallway, shuddering and unable to focus on anything, trembling even more when Alfie moved to help him up. It’d broken his already destroyed heart. Time. He needs time, he reminded himself. They all needed some time to come to grips and learn how to handle this.

 

Sliding one hand down, he brushed softly through Tommy’s hair. He probably wasn’t very comfortable sleeping all dressed up. How Tommy had even managed to get dressed was beyond him. He glanced at Cyril, watching as his head dropped to rest against his paws. 

 

There had to be some book, or more information somewhere about how to help. 

 

The front door slammed shut, and footsteps pounded as Arthur vaulted up the stairs. He prayed to god it was Ollie, and not some fucking copper or Sabini, coming to gloat or ask questions. He didn’t know how fast this would spread, and there was no one alive except the Shelby’s, the doctor and himself who knew exactly what had happened. Although the bodies were in Sabini’s territory, so there was always the chance, and Sabini very likely would’ve known about a ‘gift’ that was on its way to him. 

 

Arthur knocked on the door and stepped into the room with a large package under one arm. Particularly dirty smelling petrichor lingering around him. 

 

“Telegram, from Sabini, and a,” He paused, his swallowed thickly, looking over at Tommy. “A gift.” He finished whispering, shoulders trembling slightly. 

 

“You’re kidding.” Polly scoffed, turning staring at him. 

 

“Nah, Ollie said someone dropped it off at your bakery.” He handed the package to Polly, flicking the telegram through his fingers before handing it to Alfie. 

 

Alfie tilted, peeking down to check if Tommy was asleep or not. Fields had said it was a powerful sedative, and was supposed to work fast, but Tommy had proven he was quite capable of getting up and moving about while still under it. He did seem asleep, shoulders relaxed and hands tucked close over his face, but he might just be drifting. There was still an uncomfortable line creasing his forehead, and he was too warm as well. Maybe they could pull his jacket off in a minute or two?

 

“Alfie.” 

 

“Yeah, alright, delaying the inevitable innit?” He flipped the telegram over, ripping open the envelope and pulling out the note. 

 

_‘14 found dead in what police rule, a tragic explosives accident. Please find enclosed, the full amount of the owed debt, to go towards medical costs. As well as a far more appropriate gift. Darby Sabini.’_

 

Alfie flipped the note over and found a phone number with a short message to contact him at his convenience. 

 

Pulling off the lid, Polly pushed aside the tissue, her eyes widening confusedly as a thick blanket appeared. 

 

“Why has he sent this?” Arthur asked, lifting the blanket, heaving it out of the box and letting it drape to the floor. It was a massive thing, and probably very expensive. Thicker heavy material serving as the top with a soft fleece on the underside, and small intricate designs woven through for decoration. He’d seen smaller ones like it in shop windows before, usually advertised as nesting material for those wealthy enough, but he’d never seen one as large as this. 

 

“What did the message say?” Polly eyed the blanket suspiciously. 

 

“14 found dead in an explosives accident, and he sends Chiswicks debt paid in full, as well as that,” Alfie jabbed a finger at the blanket, “As a more appropriate gift.” 

 

“You’re telling me Sabini has a heart.” Polly asked.

 

“No, I don’t think so.”

 

“Why the blanket then.” 

 

“Well,” Alfie started, a well of emotions brewing within him, each conflicting with the next. Decades of dealing with Sabini bubbling forth as he thought. “I’ve known him a long time, and I can’t speak too positively on him, but as long as we’ve known each other, he’s never attacked anyone in this,” He paused, bonfire going ashen as the opium den danced through his thoughts. “This type of way. He’s foul, sure, but,” 

 

“He’s never attacked an omega? Ever?” Polly asked, doubt heavy on her face. 

 

“Never made a show of it, never threatened Tommy either. Tommy’d have said something if he had, at least I think he would.” He ran a hand through Tommy’s hair again, checking if the fever was dulling at all. His breathing had evened out and Alfie felt he had actually fallen asleep this time. Or more accurately was drugged asleep. 

 

How could he justify drugging Tommy? He’d spent half their relationship begging him stop drugging himself, and now he forced it in him. 

 

 _“It’s just the situation, for the pain and trauma.”_ The doctor had argued. If at any point Alfie felt Tommy was becoming too addicted they could pull him off, and try other less addicting things. Tommy had an addictive personality though, and putting him on something as dangerous as morphine seemed like asking for it. How could he even begin to make these decisions? How could he be trusted to make the right choice? He shouldn’t be trusted, it was his fault Tommy was in this situation. If he’d fought harder before, begged Tommy to walk home with him. Forced the decision even. How could he have forced that on Tommy though, when he’d never been able to force anything on him? 

 

And now Tommy did anything he asked. Like a cruel joke. He was terrified of him, terrified of, of not listening. Terrified of not doing as Alfie asked. 

 

Ash coated his throat as Tommy’s soft hair slipped through his fingers. How had he even woken up early? He should’ve been asleep for hours. His fever was still high, but not dangerous. Flushed cheeks and a sweaty forehead. He should pull off his waist coat, or maybe get a cool cloth? He didn’t want him too hot. Why was this so hard? He’d taken care of Tommy before, but never experienced this sort of fear. 

 

“You’re telling me that if he’d been,” Polly broke the silence, swallowing heavily, “ _Found_ by Sabini, he’d have been given back to us?” Her eyes turned sharp, searing into him. Bitter cider wafted through the room, stinging at his nose.

 

“It’s likely. Sabini hasn’t ever attacked anyone like this, he keeps whore houses, but the people who work there are paid fairly. It isn’t public knowledge-”

 

“It isn’t what would have happened then.” Polly cut him off. “That Chiswick fucker would’ve realized, or been tipped off. Tommy would never have been sold to him.” Her hands found the bed frame, fists tightening around the wood.

 

“What?” Arthur blinked down at her, dropping the blanket.

 

“Sabini didn’t call this attack. He’s even paid the fucker’s debt, sent it to us in full.” She said, a charred scent rushing out as the cider burned. “Someone else did. Someone else who knew how to get to Tommy, and who to use to do it. 

 

“Polly you’re not making sense,” Arthur broke in.

 

“Shut up Arthur. We have a bigger problem.” Polly snapped, nails scratching through the wood. “Someone wanted to get rid of Tommy permanently, and they nearly fucking succeeded. What’s the point of selling to a buyer who won’t pay. Sabini would’ve killed them and returned Tommy. Tommy’s worth more to him safe and alive than he is a sex slave.”

 

“Your saying someone planned this all?” Alfie’s asked, voice croaking out. “Told these people where Tommy’d be and how to attack him?”

 

“That doesn’t explain why Sabini not paying means anything?” Arthur leaned forward, hulking protectively from the foot of the bed. 

 

“Chiswick had a debt to him, and Tommy and Sabini are public enemies. Tommy and Alfie clearly work together, their  relationship isn’t a secret.” Polly reasoned. “Who else would consider an enemy brought down a debt paid in full? Their rival is removed, especially in a way like this?”

 

“But you said, you just said, Sabini would never have paid. They were going to be killed,” Arthur argued, face flushing as his voice rose. 

 

“Whoever planned it needed a third party to attack and kidnap him. Chiswick was that third party.” She threw her hand out. “He was perfect. Stupid and desperate enough to take the fall. The planner had to have known about Chiswick’s debt, and dangled the debt paid in full, and not to mention, free access to Tommy while he was in their hands. Just before the sale, the planner would’ve needed to step in and explain that Sabini would never pay and they’ll die if they sell him. Then they could’ve offered to buy Tommy, likely at a heavily discounted price or maybe they planned on killing Chiswick.”

 

“You're reaching Pol, you’re mad, this isn’t how people think.” Arthur snapped.

 

“How else, would you get back at someone this high profile?” She shouted, staring at Arthur. 

 

“By fucking shooting them!” Arthur shouted back. 

 

“This isn’t about death Arthur. It’s about payment. It’s about making Tommy pay for a crime!” She yelled, anger screaming across her face, pinching at her eyes and wrinkling her nose. “This isn’t about one upping local gangs, or fixing races. This is personal. Someone with an actual vendetta!” Her hand hit the bed covers hard, voice cracking at the volume. 

 

“Stop fucking shouting!”  Alfie barked, tucking Tommy tightly against him. Too warm, and trembling from it. From the fever or the shouting, Alfie couldn’t tell. His eyes had tightened as the voices rose, shoulders rising protectively. How was anyone in the family supposed to get a moment of peace? Polly usually had the good grace to keep quiet around sleeping people, and had been the main champion of kicking out the disorderly and loud. 

 

She was fiercely angry though, cider burning through every inch of her, charring the scent as it smoked through the room. Arthur was no better, but petrichor was a difficult scent to follow, and it was one of the many reasons Alfie’d always been unsure around him. It didn’t burn when he was angry, but grew pungent instead. Watery and heavy, rather than burnt or charred like Polly and himself. 

 

“Fine. Who the fuck has he pissed off that badly?” Arthur coughed, voice considerably lower. “Not that I’m reaching to believe this, but still.”

 

“I don’t fucking know. But I’m telling you, _this_ ” Her hand flicked out at Tommy. “Isn’t a crime of opportunity. It was planned. No one has attacked him on the street in two years! He’s a well known murderer with an army at his fingertips. Easily recognizable. A dark haired, blue eyed omega, how many of those do you really see on a daily basis? Small time doesn’t punch above its own weight.” She breathed heavily. “Not like this. They’d have had help.”

 

“So Chiswick knew who Tommy and Sabini were, and still offered to kidnap him.” Arthur reiterated, tilting his head and leaning further over the bed frame.

 

“Dangle a big enough reward to a man down on his luck as tell me he won’t jump.” Polly nodded. 

 

“Why not sell him immediately?” 

 

“It’s about punishment Arthur. Sabini was never a factor. Whoever planned it would’ve wanted Tommy to feel it, and when the time came to sell, they would’ve double crossed Chiswick.” Her heavy breathing whispered through the room as they considered her point. It was valid, concerningly so. Chiswick had a large enough debt with Sabini to be concerned about it, and Tommy, while not the picture of safety, had been careful when he did business. He always watched his back at least, and made sure no one was tailing him. 

 

He’d been attacked near the Thames as well, not a usual place for him, but not out of the question for business. Less than half an hour away by cab. By all accounts as safe as he ever was. 

 

Alfie’s mind raced back to the opium den, memories of how easily he’d killed Chiswick’s partners flitting behind his eyes. They weren’t professional. They hadn’t been seasoned killers. Brutal, terrible alphas, but not fighters. Extremely lucky, or extremely well informed. 

 

It was too well engineered to have been opportune. 

 

“Let’s say you’re right. What’s our next step?” Alfie broke the silence. Clutching Tommy close, and praying silently, thanking anyone who listened he’d heard the rumor that helped them save Tommy. 

 

“We find who organized it.” Polly said with a voice like stone. “They wanted to humiliate him, and they did.” She reached a steady hand out, rubbing softly over Tommy’s blanket. “But they didn’t kill him, nor will they.” 

 

“We’re not calling a family vote?” Arthur asked, still leaning over. A concerned tilt in his eyebrows as he brushed a hand through his mustache. 

 

“No.” She said. Arthur nodded, his eyes slipping around the room to pause on Tommy, the blanket and Sabini’s telegram, Alfie and finally Polly. 

 

“I’m staying here then. It’s safer if two people guard the house.” Arthur nodded, stepping back and seating himself in an armchair. Polly sighed heavily, decisions creasing her forehead. Confident petrichor whispered past Alfie’s nose, surprising him almost, as he hadn’t smelled a positive scent in a while. Arthur always did better with a plan though, much like Tommy. 

 

Running a hand over Tommy’s shoulder once more, Polly grabbed her bag and stepped quietly around the bed, heaving Sabini’s blanket back off of the ground and over a side chair.

 

“I'll start with Sabini, he knows Chiswick’s name.” She started, reaching for the telegram and reading the telephone number he’d left on the back. “Ada will be here if you need her, she knows about the attack, I’ve already told her.” She said, shutting the door and escaping the room. 

 

Alfie sank into the pillows, a piercing pain lancing through his heart. Maybe Polly was wrong, maybe it was all opportune and coincidental. It was a massive debt, and Chiswick would’ve been desperate. Desperate people don’t always behave intelligently. Selling omega’s to Sabini as well. It wasn’t well known, but it wasn’t a secret either that he defended them. 

 

His head tilted, landing gently on top of Tommy’s as his hands curled around him and tucked him closer still. Everyone Tommy did business with needed him alive. Tommy’d have said something if he was fucking with people bigger than himself, wouldn’t he? If he was dealing with someone stronger, what warranted a reaction as angry as this one?

 

“If Polly’s right, I think you two ought to leave London.” Arthur mumbled from the corner. Alfie flinched and blinked over at him, forgetting he was still in the room. “We don’t live safe lives, never have, but I’m not finding Tommy like that again. And I don’t think you can find him like that again either.” He said pleadingly with large eyes. 

 

“No. I don’t think I can.” Alfie agreed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading 2.5K of straight conversation! It was a delight to write despite the hair pulling. Also! The real Darby Sabini had a reputation for defending women, and (in my opinion) wouldn’t have condoned rape. Please let me know if there are any glaring errors, or if you liked it it! It makes my writing go even faster! ❤️


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are everywhere and Tommy struggles to piece together what’s happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an event! Please enjoy!

-Tommy-

 

Thick, heavy eyelids slid open, sharp eyes peering out or the first time in what felt like days. His tongue didn’t feel thick, and he could finally feel his hands, low aches and pains wracking through him as he pulled himself up. He was sick of waking up like this, unsure of anything, aching and sore. 

 

Sunlight faded dimly through the drapes, small patches of light creeping through to the room. Alfie could be at work, but Tommy couldn’t remember if he’d decided to go back or not. The only memories he could rely on were dull snapshots of concerned faces, and medications. Morphine on top of morphine. A concerning mention of Sabini’s name, as well, but he couldn’t remember what it had been about. His hand found Cyril’s back, winding into his thick fur. 

 

Cyril whined, rolling over and lolling at him as he pet him. Hands catching small knots and mattes as he carded through his fur. His eyebrows furrowed as he found tighter and tighter knots. It wasn’t like Alfie to let Cyril’s coat get this way, he was typically fastidious with him. 

 

He raked through the thicker knots, tugging them apart as he worked. The small familiar movements calming him, reminding him of grooming the horses. 

 

Tugged a tight knot free, he jerked as Cyril spun around, frustrated and whining.

 

_Rope bit into his wrists. He’d never been so fucking cold. Something dripped down the wall behind him, soaking into his shirt, sending shivers down his back. His arms shook, pulling uselessly at the rope wound tightly around him, holly rotting again. Footsteps coming near again, heart thundering-_

 

A bird chirped, swooping by the window and shocking him out of the memory. He coughed, and swallowed harshly, sweat breaking out across his forehead as rotten holly decayed through the bedroom. Why did he always smell? Couldn’t he keep it together for one minute? 

 

He slid over the edge of the bed, gently stepping down to make his way to the dresser, scenting the house as he moved. No Bonfire, cider or petrichor. An odd absence, given its overwhelming presence lately. 

 

No one. No one was in the house. He paused at the dresser, slowly allowing himself to realize that thought. 

 

A painful giggle bubbled up through his throat, breaking through the quiet room. Cyril’s collar jingled as his head swung toward Tommy. His heart stuttered in his chest as a sharp arc of fear, cut through him. No one was here. No one to yell for if-but no one had ever attacked him at home. 

 

No one had ever attacked him like that on the street either.

 

He dug through the drawers as his sweaty clothes itched at him, begging to be pulled off. He needed something to do, needed to keep busy against the fear. 

 

Dirty clothes dropped to the floor, littering the room in a trail as he escaped to the bathroom. Cyril hopped off the bed, following closely and sniffing as Tommy brushed his teeth and searched aimlessly for a comb, stopping short when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. 

 

Greasy hair hung limply over his forehead, pallid skin below. Dark purple bruises circling puffy, bloodshot eyes, chapped lips and faint stubble marring his skin. He’s looked worse before, he must’ve. He should take a bath. 

 

Shuddering, he dropped his toothbrush. No, no bath. No one was home, if someone came in he’d be helpless. Again. He’d wait until Alfie came home, that’s what he should do, or would Alfie think he was helpless if he did that? He wasn't sure how many days he’d been stuck in this fuzzy stupor, confused and exhausted. Too numb to make a conscious thought. Alfie’d been taking care of him, he knew that. Toting him around, cleaning him up and keeping him alive. He was an embarrassment. One minute to himself and he chooses to wait. No, no he’d take a bath. He decided, tremors building in him, rattling his hands. 

 

He stared through the mirror at the tub, eyeing it suspiciously before turning and sliding down the cabinet, sinking to rest his head on his hands. Why had these become actual questions? Actual problems? Fur brushed over his hands, warmth inching closer as Cyril pushing against him. Finally capable of looking after himself, and he couldn’t make one decision. They’d left him alone, clearly thinking he was alright. Alfie was going to be embarrassed of him. He’d always spoken about how Tommy was smart, reminding him constantly of clever decisions he’d made, or discussed. No one was going to accept ‘I’m afraid.’ as an answer. Nor could he ever say it out loud. Get over your fear, you can’t wander around dirty, smelling rotten all day. 

 

Stumbling to his feet, he clutched at the counter and waited for the light headedness to pass. Bright spots dancing across his vision as he moved, and slowing he caught sight of one of the cabinets. Bottles and tablets were crammed into the small cabinet, fighting for space. 

 

Tommy crept closer, opening the small glass doors to peek inside. Was it all morphine?

 

He held up a small bottle, reading over the label and directions. Doses and times written on small sheets of paper next to everything. Alfie had never believed in opium or alcohol to handle pain, so these must be his. 

 

Faded memories rose in his mind, of Alfie giving him spoonful after spoonful of numbing liquids, slowing his racing fears and thoughts, and leaving him too weak to even move. Small moments of consciousness where he’d almost gotten a word out, almost been able to say, maybe the dosage it was too much. 

 

A bitter arc of anger shot through him. This was why he couldn’t focus, or remember anything. Why he’d spent the last however long in a numb, confused stupor. 

 

Grabbing the bottles and tablets, he collected them into his arms and made his way to the toilet. Alfie hadn’t ever liked him drugged, or drunk anyway. He’d always said he was addicted, and avoiding problems. It wasn’t fair to Alfie, or himself, that the doctor prescribed him more addictions. Morphine that didn’t seem to help as it was, it didn’t make the pain go away, it just made him lost. Confused and numb to everything.  

 

Tilting several over the toilet, a vicious joy burned through him as he watched the liquid pour out. The tablets following closely, as he rushed to dump them. One shining moment of clarity finally breaking through what felt like ages of confusion.

 

No more of Alfie having to tote him about, or find him confused and exhausted on the couch or bed. No more. No increasing addiction, or reliance on anything. Alfie wouldn’t need to worry about how much of whichever to give him. 

 

Throwing the last of it into the toilet, he sat back. Dull, throbbing pain echoing through his sides and down his legs. Just bruises. That was alright though, he’d rather the pain than the confusion. 

 

Leaning forward, he collected the bottles, trembling fingers struggling to hold them as worries danced through his thoughts. Was this a bad idea? Alfie had never said he shouldn’t throw them out, not that Tommy could remember at least, and he always asked if he needed anything. Now he could ask and Tommy could tell him. “No, no I don’t, I’ve thrown it all away, you don’t need to worry.” 

 

A small rush of nervous holly permeated the room, rotting as he stood. Was this a bad idea? 

 

What did that matter? He’d already binned them. No. This was the right plan. He couldn’t lean on them like this, he was sure. He shouldn’t lean on them at all in fact. 

 

He clutched at his shirt collar, dropping several bottles as one hand wound tightly into the fabric. What if Alfie was mad? He hadn’t gotten permission to throw them out. He was going to be mad. ‘ _But they’re his!’_ A small voice whispered in his mind. ‘ _But Alfie will be mad,_ ’ A stronger, sure voice replied. He should’ve gotten permission. 

 

No! Alfie had always let him make his own decisions. He was fine to throw them out. 

 

His hand wound tighter, constricting as he worried. Teeth gritting and toes curling against the cold floor. Why did he never wear socks? Why was he always cold? 

 

_“If you want your jacket, you’ll have to stop biting.” Shuddering fingers balled into fists, forcing them still. “A favor for a favor. It’s not nice to bite people. It’s rude.” A hand closed in, pulling at the strap behind his head. “No biting.”_

 

“Tommy!” 

 

_“Now hold still, and remember,” The strap pulled free. The corners of his mouth catching on the leather. “Don’t bite.” A hand came over his vision, cupping his jaw with an iron grip._

 

“Tommy, what have you done?” 

 

_“I was told you’re mated, I bet you don’t bite your alpha when he puts things in your mouth.” Shallow breaths rattled out of him. “Do you want the fucking thing or not? The questions not that fucking hard!” He was shoved hard, black spots dancing in his eyes as his head cracked into the wall._

 

“Fuck! Did you throw everything out!?” 

 

“Don’t fucking yell at him!” Arthur’s voice slammed into him, knocking him out of his memories. The dark room fading as the bathroom appeared. 

 

Alfie’s hand was tight around his jaw, keeping his head held up as he spoke with him. His grabbed Alfie’s wrist, pulling at his hand, shuddering arms unable to pull him off. He made the wrong choice, he shouldn’t have dumped all the medicine. Alfie was mad, he was mad. He should’ve known better than to throw them away, he was going to punish him. He shouldn’t have misbehaved. Nausea clawed icily up his throat, rotting holly cloying in his nose. 

 

“Let him go!” Arthur stepped forward, heavy petrichor sinking through the room. 

 

“Arthur, calm down, I’m not-I’m not fucking yelling-”

 

“Yes you fucking were!” Arthur darted forward, grabbing Alfie and ripping him away. His nails scratched over Tommy’s chin as he was torn away, nearly taking Tommy with him.

 

He watched as Alfie fell backwards and slid into the tub, Arthur stepping between them, his back hunched, fists tightening as he stood over Alfie. Tommy clambered away, trying to press closer to the cabinets and out of their way. 

 

“Arthur,” Alfie began, hands widening peacefully. Bonfire going ashen.

 

“Do not,” Tommy heard Arthur say. His breath raggedly huffing as he spoke, anger seeping out of him. “Yell at him.” He finished, his feet inching further apart, widening his stance. 

 

“Arthur,” Alfie whispered. A low tone rolling out of him. “Calm down.” He pushed himself up slightly. “I’m sorry.” His eyes found Tommy’s, pleading across the bathroom at him. “I’m sorry Tommy,” 

 

“You do not get to yell at him for fuckin-” Arthur started, tilting over his shoulder and peeking at Tommy from where he was slumped against the cabinets. “Fuck, Tommy,” He jerked, hands swinging out to help as Tommy jolted and grabbed onto the toilet as his stomach rebelled and he threw up. 

 

“Fucking hell.” Arthur moaned. 

 

Tommy’s head hit the seat, nausea swinging in his stomach as he tried to breathe. Why had Alfie said he was sorry. Why was he sorry? What did he have to be sorry for? Tommy should’ve known better than to have touched anything. 

 

“Sorry Tom,” A heavy hand rubbed over his back, dropping away quickly as Tommy wrenched himself away. “Just-just tell us what you need us to do, ok?” Arthur said. 

 

Cold sweat broke out across his back, seeping into clean clothes he’d struggled to put on barely half an hour ago. How could Arthur dangle that above his head? _‘Tell us what you need us to do,’_ As if they weren’t going to punish him anyway. His knees weakened, and slumped further into the toilet, tilting dangerous near the ground. 

 

He could try, couldn’t he? To ask? _They’d told him to ask before though._ Tommy thought. Ice settling firmly in his stomach, replacing the nausea with fear. _They’d told him to ask and beg them to stop, and when he’d finally lowered himself to begging, they hadn’t._  

 

How could this be any different? 

 

Cider wafted through the house then, tickling at his nose. He peeked out from behind his arms, watching as Alfie and Arthur both froze. Polly’s steps echoing through the house as she climbed the stairs. 

 

“Tommy, sweetheart, how does your stomach feel? Do you want to move to the bed?”

 

Tommy’s eyes clenched shut, blocking them both out. Everything they said made his heart pound and his head ache. He wanted desperately for them both to leave, leave him alone to find his way back into a bed. Or maybe a boat. He was sick of beds. 

 

“What's happened?” Polly’s voice rang out, concern coloring it. She slid through the room slowly, her bag hitting the floor next to him as her voice neared. 

 

“Tommy dumped the meds, and Alfie yelled at him for it.” 

 

“Fuck off Arthur, I was trying to help and found them all gone! I reacted, incorrectly yes, and I’m upset enough with myself about it.” 

 

“Did he look very aware to you? Did he look like he even understood the fucking question?” Arthur shouted. “He was losing it and you fucking grabbed him!”

 

Soft fingers curled over his forehead, tilting his head up off the toilet seat as Polly’s head appeared. 

 

“The dosage was too high.” She said, carding a hand through his hair as her eyes creased and she gently let go of him. “He’s sweating morphine.” More ash permeated the room, cutting through the heavy petrichor. “And if he dumped them, he doesn’t want them. Fair?” She stood up. “Give him a minute to breathe. No one likes to be crowded.” 

 

Ashen bonfire stole through his nose as the two stepped out, trying wordlessly to apologize. It felt wrong. Afie shouldn’t apologize, he shouldn’t have misbehaved. He should’ve known better. 

 

“Are these two taking care of you? Or shall I send you to Esme?” Polly asked. “I know it’s hard to consider, but I need to know if you want to come back to Birmingham.” 

 

He didn’t want to leave Alfie though. He still felt safest around him. Today was just an accident, he’d messed up, of course Alfie would’ve gotten mad at him. 

 

“Tommy,” Her hand rubbed gently over his back, easing him slightly. “I’m not going to drag you away. I’ll only take you if you want to go. I’ll bring Alfie along as well, but we have more family in Birmingham than we do here.” 

 

His hands shook as he pushed himself up, trying to look at her or around the room at least. It felt monumental, forcing his arms into moving. He’d made it all the way here earlier though, he refused to be carried out. 

 

“Think about it. And don’t throw out all the morphine next time, save a little. We can always do with extra.” She stepped away, easily dodging around the bottles as she moved toward the door. “I’ll be back soon, take a moment. Lord knows you need one.” 

 

Relief bloomed in his chest, intermingling with the fear of being alone and the joy of peace and quiet. 

 

He pushed himself weakly away from the toilet and tried to grab onto the counter, faltering as his legs gave away, and he slid to the floor again. The bottles rolled precariously, knocking into Polly’s bag and the tub. A small jolt of fear rippled through him as he threw a look at the door, eyes wide with worry, but it stayed blissfully shut. 

 

Reaching down, he grabbed at the furthest ones, setting them upright and less likely to roll if he fell. Shoving Polly’s bag away with his foot for good measure, and cringing as it tipped and spilled out. Diaries, notebooks and flasks joining the bottles, adding to the mess. 

 

He was a wreck. They were going to come in any second. He flipped her diary closed, moving as quickly as he could to throw everything back in her bag, but stopped short as a list of names fell out from her notebook. He didn’t know most of them, but one near the top stood out. 

 

Kent. He’d heard that name before. 

 

_“He’s going to pay us still, right?” A raspy voice echoed. “He’s getting his debts paid, but what do we get?”_

 

_“To fuck him. What else did you want?” Tommy shuddered from inside his small, dark room._

 

_“Money. Money and to fuck him.”_

 

_“Ask Kent, he’s friends with the one who made the deal.”_

 

Why was she looking into him? 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you liked it, please leave a comment below. It’s like fuel for writing! Thank you! ❤️


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly pieces together what happened at home while she’s been gone, and Alfie and Ada worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my baby, I hope you love it.

-Polly-

 

“What happened?” Polly asked, shutting the bathroom door and mentally murmuring a quiet prayer as she left Tommy alone. Lord knows he needs some space. 

 

Twisting around, she leaned against the door, her eyes dancing around the room to take in the state of things. 

 

It was well kept, a few dirty clothes scattered over the floor, but tidy beyond that. The windows were all cracked a bit to let the cool air in, and the bed was piled high with blankets. Sabini’s thick, gifted one laying over top. A notebook on the left side of the bed left open, grocery lists and chores ticked off and crossed out in it. A list of times starred and scratched into the margin. Small notes containing dosage amounts clipped onto it. 

 

Arthur paced agitatedly past her, hugging his arms close to himself as he walked, his fingers worrying into thread bare sleeves and shoulders curling in on himself as he fumed. Petrichor thickened and soaked the room protectively as his mustache twitched and he frowned, frustration stained his cheeks red. His anger was understandable, having just seen Tommy herself. The few seconds she’d spent with him had carved lasting memories deeply into her soul. Watching him sweat morphine and throw up, likely addicted again. Thinner than ever, with deep purple circles surrounding his eyes. If he shivered from medication or genuine cold she couldn’t have been able to tell, given how little he looked. 

 

His instant, fearful reaction when she’d suggested bringing him home ate at her heart as well. Still terrified of _misbehaving_. Alfie had used that word before, spitting it out as though it was the root of Tommy’s fear. 

 

_‘He won’t say what’s wrong, only that he won’t misbehave anymore.’_

 

“Alfie’s been drugging him for days.” Arthur said, stabbing a finger at Alfie. 

 

Alfie jerked, trembling hands stuttering through the air as he thought. Ragged, dirty clothes loose on his as his arms moved. He was almost as pale as Tommy, limp hair lank across his forehead. The scaly red patches that graced his skin from time to time appearing in force, dotting begins his ears and over his hands. 

 

“He’s in pain, and the doctor prescribed it. I didn’t have another way to help,” Alfie said, his voice croaking as ashen bonfire permeated the room. “I was trying-that was the only thing I knew helped.”

 

“Tommy’s been stuck in this bed, Pol. For days. Barely able to whisper. Can’t even get a word out.” 

 

Nodding, Polly reached down to grab a cigarette and cursed silently, realizing she’d left her bag in the bathroom. 

 

“Pol, it’s not right.” 

 

“When that was prescribed, was it calculated based on weight?” She asked, digging through her pockets. Tommy’s rapidly decreasing weight, heavy in her mind. 

 

“Yeah, weight and height.” Alfie answered.

 

“He’s lost weight since then, next time, ask the doctor how to calculate the dosage.”

 

“Pol!” 

 

“You noticed this days ago and haven’t said anything Arthur.” She glared, hands slipping from her pockets as she spun around. Tommy’s side of the bed was likely the right, his nightstand must have cigarettes. “Say something sooner next time.” Ripping open the drawer, she dug through until a cigarette packet brushed over her fingers. Cyril scratched at the bedroom door, whining lowly as they spoke and reminding them of his absence. 

 

“I’ve been saying things!” Arthur snapped, whirling around and stepping closer, petrichor turning dangerously stormy. “I’ve been trying to tell you both, he's not safe!” He snarled. “It’s not just Alfie drugging him, it’s his reactions to loud noises, us, waking up screaming in the middle of the fucking night Pol!” He said, his wild eyed, panicked face coming close to hers. “He shouldn’t be in London, he should-he should-” His voice quivered. 

 

“Alright, Arthur.” Polly said firmly, patting his shoulder. “Alright. I understand.” Smoky bonfire careened around the room, coating everything seconds after she spoke. 

 

“Polly,” Alfie said, his shoulders trembed, lips whitening as his eyes turned manic. Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to speak. His fear was clear on his face, screaming loudly across the silent room. Omegas that were raped were usually taken back home, sometimes without their mates knowing and often with the stipulation their mates not visit. 

 

“When he’s had a minute to breathe, we’ll ask him how he feels,” She nodded at them both, lighting her cigarette. “I won’t take him away from you, Alfie,” Warm smoke drifting into her lungs. “Not unless he asks.” 

 

Alfie nodded slowly, fingers scratching unconsciously over the red patches on his hands as he worried. The room calmed as Arthur’s pacing slowed and he sank onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. The dog scratched again, whining sharply at his forced absence. 

 

Opening the door, Alfie dodged out of the way as the dog tore through the room. They must’ve pushed him outside when they found Tommy. He brushed over her leg, laying against the door and tilted his head, asking her to let him in.

 

“Have you,” Arthur sniffed, fierce anger wavering as he ran a hand through his hair. “Have you learned anything yet?” He peeked up at her, eyes narrowing as they landed on her. Alfie’s joining as well. 

 

“A few names.” She said, the last two days of investigation burning in her mind. “Willis Sutherland owed the debt, but was found dead in the river two days ago.” 

 

“Tommy killed him though!” Arthur argued, his brow creasing. “Threw a fucking knife in his eye!” 

 

“Apparently not.” She answered back. “Sabini confirmed it, he doesn’t know who actually killed him though.” Bottles rolled and collided from inside the bathroom, sending an anxious shiver creeping up her back. Tommy’s fine, just needs a minute, probably knocked into them accidentally. Cyril huffed again, large brown eyes looking up at her, begging again for her to open the door. 

 

“Who the fuck did Tommy kill then?” 

 

Names whirled in her mind, spinning and arguing amongst each other over who did what. Willis Sutherland being the loudest. Throughout her search she’d uncovered others though as well. Samuel Davies, who was now in police custody, and Simon Kent, who no one had seen in days. 

 

Sabini had offered to keep an eye out for him, but hadn’t been able to promise anything. 

 

“Henry Latham, if that name means much to either of you.” She said, fingers tightening around her cigarette. Sabini had been impressed when he’d brought up Latham, remarking appreciatively how hard Tommy had to have thrown the knife.

 

“They’re covering their tracks.” Alfie muttered, his eyes dulling and drifting to the bathroom door. “They’ll all be dead before we can get ahold of them.” 

 

“No,” Arthur croaked, spinning around to stare at Alfie.

 

“If it really was about punishment, whoever planned it would have to get rid of them quick. Otherwise one of them might be smart enough to come to us.” Alfie said.

 

Polly clicked her tongue and blew out a wisp of smoke, heart stuttering as Alfie spoke her fears. 

 

-Alfie-

 

Alfie inched into the dark closet, crawling below the shelves and tugging at Tommy’s blankets and pillows. A slow, creeping sadness dripping into his chest at the amount he’d collected. Again. Thicker blankets padding the walls and softer ones covering him, barely any hair peeking out from beneath. 

 

He didn’t want to call it a nest, but that’s what it was. A bad parody of a nest. _Omega’s nest for all sorts of reasons._ A quiet voice reasoned in his mind. When they’re sick, sad, or uncomfortable.

 

Ashen bonfire whispered out of him, slowing his movements as he pulled a sheet aside, revealing Tommy’s face. He wasn’t sweating, or shaking as much the first time he’d found him in the closet, but there was a prominent crease in his forehead, and his hands shook as they worried into the blankets. 

 

Tommy sniffed, curling further into his pillows at the scent. He was back in the coat again too. If he felt comfortable and safe in the closet, then who was Alfie to move him? He shouldn’t even touch him, given his latest treatment of him.

 

Guilt ripped through him as he thought of the last few days. Tommy was natural quiet, yes, but not bloody silent. He’d thought he was exhausted and healing, and when his hands would escape the blankets to stutter aimlessly toward Alfie, he’d assumed he’d wanted a cuddle, or warmth. Thankful at all that Tommy was seeking comfort rather than keeping it bottled up. 

 

But he hadn’t been looking for a hug, or love. He’d been trying to tell Alfie he’d drugging him so fiercely he couldn’t even speak. Could barely move. Arthur had been trying to tell him for days, and Polly had guessed it so easily. The dosage was too high, how had he been so blind to that? And every time he’d asked Tommy if he wanted more, Tommy would just nod. Perpetual tremors running through him whenever Alfie spoke. He wouldn’t say no. 

 

A broken sob thickened in his throat, threatening to escape and wake Tommy.

 

He breathed heavily through his nose, stomach aching and knees cracking as he sank onto the blankets and pushed further into the closet. Nests were generally very private, and given the amount of things taken from Tommy lately, he didn’t want to enter without Tommy’s permission. 

 

Should he enter at all though? What right did he have to even ask? He’d done a terrible job, and he’d promised, hadn’t he? He’d promised to take care of him. 

 

His throat closed up again as memories of their wedding echoed in his mind. Of their vows exchanged, and how Tommy had asked him not to promise to always protect and care for him. Citing it as an old, tired and unnecessary law turned vow required by alphas, but rarely upheld. He could easily protect himself, he’d argued, but Alfie still whispered it to him during the ceremony. Quietly so only Tommy had heard. Muttering under his breath that laws didn’t apply to him in business, and they wouldn’t apply to him in love. He would protect Tommy because he wanted to. Tommy had blushed shyly, his eyes dropping to the ground before he leaned in and whispered the same vow back. 

 

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t protected him and he hadn’t taken care of him. He’d only made it worse. 

 

Pushing out of the closet, he whistled lowly at Cyril. Nervous eyes flickering to Tommy as Cyril barked and darted through the hallway, skittering to a stop barely arms reach away. He sniffed lightly over Alfie before crawling under the shelves with Tommy. Circling once and laying down, pressed as close to Tommy as he could. 

 

He wouldn’t climb in the closet with Tommy. He didn’t have permission first, and he worried Tommy would give it the instant he woke up, fearful of telling Alfie no, rather than admitting he needed space. 

 

Shutting the closet door slightly, he twisted and leaned against the wall. A bitter sadness aching through him as he sat, doing nothing to keep him warm against the dark, desolate hallway. 

 

He should leave before Tommy wakes up. Leave before the fear, terror and worry broke across his face, turning his eyes wide and hands trembling. When fears of whether he was _allowed_ to leave the bed, _allowed_ to sleep elsewhere, _allowed_ to do what he wanted echoed in his mind. 

 

“I’ll do better Tommy, I promise.” The words whispered through the wide hallway, croaking out of him. 

 

-Ada-

 

Ada darted up the hotel stairway and quickly rounded the corner onto the fourth floor. Eyes catching gaudy, gold plated room numbers as she ran. The scent drifted left. 

 

_‘I don’t know anymore than that, just that Alfie and Arthur found him-’_

 

Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, ringing around her as sweat beaded down her neck and soured her faint whiskey scent. 

 

_‘What did the doctor say?’_

 

_The blood drained from her face and her tongue went numb as Polly’s eyes darkened. The myriad of anger, despair and misery collecting on her face answering her question for her._

 

_‘So I’m looking for some people.’ Polly said, pulling out photos._

 

The smell was faded around Room’s 472 and 473. Plush patterned carpet padding her steps as she moved, and her eyes danced over the doors. 

 

Room 478, she stopped short. Her heart pounding as she stared at the door, Simon Kent’s pinched, rat face fresh in her mind. 

 

Her heart had leapt into her throat when she’d spotted him at the hotel bar. A nervous and jittery alpha, she’d sat, watching as he nursed his glass for nearly an hour before downing it and leaving. And now, trailing him after he escaped through two back doors and up a staff stair way, she had finally found his room. 

 

Her heart slowed as she scented the door, searching for the watery smell she’d noticed after passing his bar stool. She couldn’t say what it was specifically, but it lingered through the hallway, and drifted around the door. This was absolutely his room. 

 

A fierce anger burned through her, smoking at her whiskey scent as a vengeful whisper hissed in her ear, urging her to smash through his door and shoot him in the stomach. 

 

They needed him alive though, Polly had been specific. 

 

‘He raped Tommy,’ The bitter voice, eerily similar to her own, crowed. ‘He shoved his cock inside your screaming, defenseless brother, and you’re going to walk away, and let him live?’ Her throat closed up, choking her in the empty hallway as  thoughts of Tommy struggling raced across her mind. ‘Shoot him.’ 

 

‘No!’ She snarled at herself. ‘We need to know who Kent worked for. We need him alive. We kill him after.’ She nodded shakily to herself, one hand itching to grab her gun. 

 

Pushing her thoughts back, she slipped back down the hallway and made quick work of the stairs. Polly would be difficult to get ahold of, considering Ada didn’t know where she was at any given moment, but phoning one of the beta’s paid to watch her house should do. They could find Polly, and she could stay and guard the hotel. 

 

The hotel itself didn’t have a telephone, but the staff politely directed her to a telephone box just down the street. An anxious itch tickled over her at leaving Kent alone in the hotel, even for just a moment, but she’d rather they know where Kent was. 

 

She crossed the street nervously, tossing looks behind her back as she sloshed through puddles and mud. The dimly lit London streets closed in around her as she spotted the lonely, poorly lit telephone box halfway down the block. Shoes cracking across the pavement, she tore open the doors, and stepped inside. Fog had clouded the windows slightly, leaving them blurry and difficult to see through, unhelped by her warm breath.

 

Getting a hold of one of the beta’s, she relayed her information quickly and hung up, slamming the doors shut and darted back across the street, faint raindrops dripping into her coat as she hurried. 

 

“Mrs. Thorne!” A familiarly snide voice called out. Her throat froze, apprehension crawling up her back as Chester Campbell limped out of the darkness towards her. 

 

“Good evening, my dear.” His cane swung out as his arm lifted in a half wave. “To run into such old friends in as large a city as London,” He clicked his tongue. “Who’d have thought?”

 

“What a coincidence,” She agreed cooly, eyebrows raising. 

 

“Visiting friends?” He asked, turning and looking across the street at a local omega friendly pub. 

 

A tight smile forced its way across her lips, whiskey souring as Campbell nodded and a large grin broke over his face. He seemed oddly calm, relaxed in a way he’d never been. 

 

His shoulders weren’t as hunched usual, and despite the cane, his bothersome limp looked well managed.

 

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” He said, “If however,” He paused, stepping closer to her, his finger nearly brushed her nose as he pointed at her. “You happen to see your brother Thomas, let him know I’ve set a meeting for tomorrow. I’ve been more than patient with this flighty little holiday of his. Forgiving, you might even say, of his behavior. But if he misses this one, it’ll be open season on you and your family.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he loomed over her, his grin widening as he spoke. “The Millen hotel, 9 tomorrow.” He added, stepping away and heading down the street. 

 

Spinning slowly on her heel, she watched as he walked. A creeping, uneasy fear snaking down her spine as he turned the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it, they fuel my writing like you wouldn’t believe! ❤️ And make my day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur draws a few conclusions, and Tommy learns a few new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please double check the tags again. This chapter is very dear to my heart, and I hope you all love it.

-Arthur-

 

Arthur watched as Alfie stared at the phone on the desk, one hand clenched around his glass, fingers bleaching as they tightened. Bonfire whispered off of him every few seconds. Ada’s words ringing in their minds. 

 

_‘I found Kent, called Polly and am keeping an eye on him. Campbell set a meeting too, for 9 tomorrow. The Millen Hotel. He wants to talk to Tommy. If you need me, I’ll be there.’_

 

Arthur sank further into the couch. If felt like he lived on the hard leather thing. Waking with it’s springs digging into his back, rousing old aches and falling asleep as it created new ones, never quite giving him a moment of peace. 

 

The sudden euphoria of Ada having found Kent had bolted through him, overtaking the worry Campbell’s appointment had caused. They would finally learn some answers. Polly had to know, wherever she was, she could figure this out. ‘ _Tommy too_ ,’ Arthur thought, a sharp sadness cutting across his heart. Tommy could’ve figured it out. 

 

It was difficult to imagine, and it’d been bothering Arthur for days now, whispering from the back of his mind. His brother, who worked so often with all sorts of people, who read them well and could predict their next steps, hadn’t seen this coming. Hadn’t mentioned it if he had either. 

 

_Stands to reason he just didn’t see it coming then, doesn’t it?_

 

Tommy was so good at it though. He’d planned Kimber’s every move, and Sabini and Alfie’s to the best of his ability. Outmaneuvered them both, on some level, and he’d almost outsmarted Campbell, if not for Grace. He hadn’t seen her betrayal coming though. Or Alfie’s. They’d both found a way to distract him. 

 

Tommy had a blind spot. An obvious one. 

 

He stole a look at Alfie. Watching as his dead eyes glittered in the dim light, trembling fingers rubbing his glass. Worries cycled through him, welling up in his mind again. If Alfie betrayed them, and planned it, he wasn’t handling the after effects well. 

 

Clicking his tongue, he shook his head at himself. This line of thought wouldn’t do any good. Alfie had been just as frantic as the rest of the family when Tommy went missing. 

 

But he had known where to look. 

 

A shiver crept up Arthur’s back, itching across his shoulders. It was Alfie’s idea to try the opium den. Arthur’d had his ear to the ground just as much, but hadn’t heard that rumor once, and killing everyone while Arthur stayed with Tommy was a good way to keep the secret safe. 

 

“Campbell.” Alfie muttered. “Let’s focus on his meeting first. Then Kent.” 

 

Arthur nodded. Campbell wasn’t going to be easy to handle, he’d ask questions and he was frustratingly observant, and he hated Tommy. It never sat well with him, having to make deals with an omega and having to consider them as just as smart as himself. He’d find any reason to belittle Tommy. 

 

“I don’t want to step in Tommy’s business.” Alfie’s eyes flickered to him, his thumb twisting at his wedding ring. “But he can’t handle him right now.” 

 

“I’ll go with him.” Arthur said. “Wouldn’t leave him alone in this state, and I can keep Campbell occupied.” He could deal with Campbell, and then get to Kent. Leave Tommy with Polly or Ada and question him before Alfie got a hold of him. 

 

“I don’t want Tommy near him at all.”

 

“I don’t think we have a choice. We’ll be fast. Get in, sit down and handle it quickly. Reaffirm deals so he doesn’t start picking us off. I’ll do all the talking.” 

 

“Arthur,” Alfie’s hands trembled. “He’s going to see. He’s going to be able to tell that something is wrong.” 

 

“Alfie,” Arthur copied him. “It’s been nearly two weeks, he’s going to be suspicious either way and he’ll actually start picking us off the street and hanging us if he doesn’t go.” His heart ached at the thought of taking Tommy with him, but Campbell wouldn’t settle for any less. Once he’d learned Tommy was the boss, he’d been insufferable. Angry when he was forced to meet with anyone but Tommy, and angry over his being an omega. Angry in general. 

 

Alfie frowned, backing down from the argument and leaning back in his chair, spinning the ring on his finger again, worry screaming across his face as his eyes pinched shut and he began muttering. His voice rolled lowly around the room, nearly silent. 

 

“Separate but equal, separate but equal.” 

 

Arthur scratched at his mustache thoughtfully. Asking Alfie outright if he’d betrayed Tommy was dangerous. Arthur wasn’t sure he had anything to do with it anyway. Save the small, worrying doubts adding up in his mind, but those didn’t count as evidence. Polly should be here, she was better at this. 

 

“How can your business be separate, but equal, if it effects Tommy?” Arthur sat forward, his arms resting against his leg as he watched Alfie closely. 

 

Alfie loved Tommy. He did. He’d betrayed Tommy once for business before though, who’s to say this wasn’t a second attempt? A failed, miserable one, but an attempt nonetheless. 

 

“What?” Alfie eyes flashed towards him, his glass dropping dully to the table as he looked up. 

 

“What you do in your business, effects him, right?” Arthur asked, folding his hands to force them to settle. If Alfie caught onto his line of questioning, he might start something and Arthur would have to get Tommy out quickly. 

 

A low sadness cut through his chest. Tommy wouldn’t leave willingly. He’d wrapped himself tightly in Alfie’s coat and hidden himself under the blankets when they’d asked earlier. 

 

This was why family’s spirited omegas away. They weren’t open to leaving their mates, preferring instead to suffer and stay by their side. An unshakeable loyalty stiffening in their bones if leaving was brought up. Even if their mate had caused their pain. Tommy had never been typical as far as omega characteristics went, but he had all the signs of one traumatized right now. 

 

“Yeah, but that’s business. Money. Race tracks, rum and exportation. Campbell and Sabini. It fucking,” Alfie said tiredly, running a hand over his eyes. “It effects his business, but not him.” 

 

“Business is why he was kidnapped though,” Arthur said, staring at him. 

 

“Yeah,”

 

“And business is why he was,” His throat closed, choking for a moment. “Raped.” 

 

“Yeah,” Alfie croaked again. 

 

Silence fell at their words, oppressively surrounding them until the only noise left was the subtle tapping of the rain against the windows. If Alfie had a hand in this, Tommy would break. And he was already cracking. Pieces of himself seemed to fall further away each day, new fears and concerns overwhelming him every second. But a betrayal of this level-

 

Had Alfie planned it though? If he did, what did he stand to gain? 

 

A dull headache began to set in. He’d never been fantastic at guessing people’s intentions, far preferring to beat the shit out of things that frustrated him. Given Alfie’s gentle treatment of Tommy, he hadn’t expected the violent outcome. He may have thought they’d just hold onto him, and wouldn’t hurt him? 

 

Polly had said it was about payment though, had Alfie been mad at Tommy? He couldn’t remember. Everything from before this nightmare was a blur of color, and everything after was painful to think about. _Tommy huddled beneath the table, the stench of opium, blood and rotten holly coating him while he carefully watched Arthur._ He’d never forget that. If Alfie caused that-

 

“Kent, how do we handle Kent?” Alfie’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts. His hand was back on the glass, spinning it slowly through a water stain. “Polly will question him, but I want to as well.” 

 

Arthur blinked up, his head having fallen into his hands at some point. He didn’t want to start making plans about Kent when he wasn’t sure of Alfie’s intentions.   

 

“We have some time. Ada won’t lose him.” The ache spread out as he tried to reason this problem, throbbing lowly. 

 

Alfie had spent the better part of the last few days drugging Tommy into a stupor, ensuring that if he did know anything, he wasn’t going to be talking. How long was his brother supposed to wander around like that too? All that intelligence and biting wit dulled and broken because, because-

 

He drew a blank. 

 

Sighing and sitting up, he stretched his back against the stiff couch. Maybe Tommy knew more than he let on, and that’s why he was so afraid of Alfie? He had spent the better part of this in a terrified huddle, waiting for Alfie to come and punish him. 

 

The headache was spreading down his neck. 

 

He looked over at Alfie again, watching the hypnotizingly slow spin of his water glass. He wanted to break that thing. 

 

“Kent hasn’t gone home. It’s likely someone’s there, waiting to kill him, so he’s hiding, and waiting for someone to pick him up.” Alfie blinked, pausing his glass in its spin. “He had the sense to have a hotel room booked, and an escape route planned. Who do we know who could scare someone like that?” He asked, squinting through the darkness at Arthur. 

 

“Who fucking knows.” Arthur groaned, rubbing over his temples and resisting the urge to say ‘you.’ 

 

“Alfie?” Tommy’s quiet voice echoed through the room, sending them both shooting up.

 

Stumbling backwards at their movement, Tommy knocked into the wall, the thin blanket he’d brought with him dropping to the ground as his hands wound together over his stomach. 

 

“Tommy,” Alfie stood up, moving to round the desk before Arthur threw a hand out, stopping him in his tracks, unsure of Alfie now more than ever. 

 

“Everything alright Tom?” Arthur tried comfortingly, as he pushed himself closer against the wall.  

 

Tommy inhaled sharply through his nose, glancing behind Arthur and down to his thin blanket, his eyes growing uncomfortably large as they turned to Alfie, sparking another of Arthur’s concerns. His extreme fear of Alfie. If he was nervous of alphas, he’d be just as terrified of Arthur as he was Alfie, but he wasn’t. Just Alfie. 

 

It could just be that Alfie was his mate though, and his opinion held more sway over Tommy. 

 

“Did you hear us talking about Kent?” Arthur asked. 

 

Tommy nodded, his eyebrows creasing nervously.

 

Arthur’s heart stuttered as a small, hard look echoed from behind Tommy’s eyes, pinning him in place. It was uniquely Tommy. Arthur had seen his eyes harden time and time again while growing up. When he didn’t understand something, but soon would.

 

“Do you know him?” Arthur asked. 

 

“Arthur,” Alfie’s voice cut questioningly through the room. A slight shudder rattled through Tommy as sweet holly permeated around them. 

 

Tommy could probably figure it out faster than Polly, given that he’d have known who was likely to hire Sutherland, Kent and the others. He’d know what led up to it.

 

Tommy hands tightened over his stomach as the holly wavered, rotting in the air as the scent turned over itself. 

 

“Did he touch-” Arthur cut himself off, his hands balling into fists. _Did he touch you?_ Knocked harshly in his mind, anger begging to explode out of him. Of course he touched Tommy, the name alone was making him stressed. “Did he ever mention anyone-”

 

“Arthur!” Bonfire burned hot, spitting smoke and careening fiercely around the dark living room as Tommy sank down to the ground, shuddering shoulders closing in on himself. 

 

Arthur blinked frustratedly at Alfie before swinging around to Tommy and watching as he huddled himself into the blanket, his arms tugging the edges, futilely trying to pull it closer. Large eyes darting around the room. 

 

Arthur didn’t have a term for it, shell shock was the closest word he knew, but he’d seen Tommy drift unconscious without closing his eyes too many times to not see it barrelling toward him. 

 

“Give us a minute, he needs some space.” 

 

“I’ll stay, I can help,” 

 

“Arthur, honestly, just one fucking minute.”

 

“You’re not the only one who can calm him down,” His voice climbed, unable to calm down as Alfie spoke. Alfie wasn’t blessed with some magical gift, he was good at easing Tommy, but so was Arthur, and he’d been doing it for a lot longer. 

 

“No, but crowding him has never helped and I know why he's here-”

 

“He’s here ‘cause he wants to know who paid Kent!” Arthur snapped.

 

Tommy’s eyes froze, and a small puff of air escaped him as he rocked backward, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead. 

 

A tight feeling banded across Arthur’s stomach. He shouldn’t have said that.

 

Alfie jerked, storming around the desk and shoving Arthur roughly to the side as he stepped behind him and ripped open a chest of drawers, pulling out a thick, heavy blanket. Glaring violently and side stepped Arthur again, he kneeled and wrapped the blanket slowly around Tommy. 

 

“He wasn’t here about Kent,” Alfie muttered. “He wanted the blanket.” 

 

-Tommy-

 

_Kent pulled his hair back, his fingers tightening around his scalp as his eyes squeezed shut at the sharp pain. He pulled at the leather around his wrists, praying it would give, and rip._

 

_“I had my share of concerns, Tommy Shelby. I did.” He whispered in his ear, his other hand clawing at Tommy’s jaw. ‘Steal Tommy Shelby off the street, and hold him for a day or two, maybe find some time to stick your cock in him,’ You have to admit. It sounds ludicrous.” Kent laughed. His body ached, bruises blooming to life as Kent’s hand wandered and slid down his jaw to hold his neck, squeezing the air out of him. A nausea inducing, stagnant watery scent drifting around Tommy as he moved._

 

_“But he was right. This is pretty victimless. Well, there’s you of course, but you’re not really a victim are you?” He dropped Tommy’s hair and dragged  him into his lap. “Given how many people you’ve killed,” Pulling Tommy onto his cock, he continued. “How many people?” He shoved upwards. Tommy’s mouth dropping open in a silent shout of pain._

 

“Fuck! Alfie!”

 

“Arthur, if you don’t back the fuck up-”

 

_“I didn’t know you were an omega, did you know that?” Kent rocked his hips slowly, shards and needles breaking out across Tommy body as he moved. “All along I thought you were this short, angry alpha, but lo and behold,” He gasped mockingly, and hands tightened around Tommy’s waist as he lifted him. “When he told us, I want you to know, I was shocked. You had me fooled.” Prying Tommy’s eyes open, Kent smiled pityingly at him and pulled him roughly down onto him again. His smile growing as Tommy shuddered in pain. “You’re very pretty, that must make negotiations easier with you flashing your arse-”_

 

A loud crash jolted him from the memory. Cold sweat soaking him as the living room faded in the corners of his eyes. Arthur was on the floor, one hand clutching at his right eye as petrichor sank heavily throughout the room. 

 

_“Do all your business partners fuck you?”_

 

Tommy gasped, desperate for air as nausea thundered up his throat.   

 

“Did it occur to you that reminding him might bring about bad memories?” Alfie shouted, standing over Arthur. “And that that’s a pretty goddamn cruel plan!?” 

 

Arthur skittered backwards, rising to his feet quickly and nearly tipping a lamp as he grabbed onto a side table. 

 

“I wasn’t-I wasn’t trying to be cruel!” Arthur croaked out, his eyebrows rising as an unbearable horror cracked across his face. “I thought Tommy had guessed, had maybe figured it out?” 

 

“He’s not here to figure anything out!” Alfie said, backing away as Arthur’s petrichor dampened further, hanging wetly through the room. “If he talks about it, alright, but don’t force him to think about it.”

 

Kent’s name reeled in his mind, screaming over Arthur’s questions and Alfie’s comforting. Someone organized it. Someone knew it happened. Black spots dotted alarmingly through his vision again, dulling the living room. 

 

Alfie turned slowly, sinking to his knees and tucking the blanket back around Tommy, warm bonfire easing his nausea and keeping him present. He muttered coaxingly, scenting Tommy carefully as he pulled the blanket up and fixed his coat, brushing a hand through his hair for good measure. 

 

“That was a long one, eh?” He said. Whispering so lowly that Tommy almost hadn’t heard it. “Try not to tense up if you feel it coming, alright? The less you tense the less sore you’ll be after.” He dabbed his sleeve over his forehead and pressed a light kiss on his hair. “It’s four in the morning, we’re going to go to bed,” Alfie’s arm came around him again, helping him up onto unsteady knees. “At a more reasonable hour, we’ll deal with what to do next.” 

 

Easing Tommy out of the living room and back up the stairs, Alfie paused. Stopping short in front of the closet Tommy’d managed to fall asleep in earlier. Tommy’s heart clenched, still reeling from his memories, leaving him even more of a trembling mess as they’d walked. 

 

Alfie hadn’t found him in the closet again, had he? If he had, he’d have pulled him out. He didn’t say it wasn’t ok to hide in there though. Tommy tried to remember, struggled to think of the first time he’d found him, but only came back with opium laced confusion and a breathtaking fear of that awful doctor. Swallowing harshly, he forced himself to glance at Alfie, and see why they’d stopped. Not that he was complaining. He wasn't complaining. His hands wound together, scratching over his knuckles and losing their grip on his blanket. Don’t act out, don’t misbehave. 

 

Arthur had said someone paid Kent. Something cracked in his chest, rattling up his throat and taking ahold of his jaw. The fierce urge to shout bubbling up from deep in his soul. Someone knew. Someone knew and organized it. Paid them off. 

 

Tommy wanted to grab Alfie’s hands, pull him closer and scream. Hazy voices rocked around him though and the opium den rippled in his ears, reminding him to behave. Do what you’re told, don’t act out. You won’t like the consequences. 

 

“Where do you want to sleep?” Alfie asked, looking from the closet to him as he pulled the blanket up again. 

 

Tommy stared at him, fear dripping down his back, stealing away the brief spot of anger at the open ended question. 

 

How could he make the right choice? What could he say that would make Alfie not want to punish him?

 

He threw a look at the closet, guilt stirring in his stomach at the nest hiding inside. He’d only escaped for a moment, fully intending on coming back once he had the blanket. It’d been cold and dark, and this one was the thickest they owned. He couldn’t remember where the overly nice one had come from, but it didn’t feel like his and he didn’t want to use it. 

 

“How about the bed?” Alfie asked finally, bonfire easing his racing thoughts. Relief tore through him as he nodded violently and Alfie moved them along. He’d put the blankets away tomorrow, before Alfie could find them. 

 

-Kent-

 

 

Someone had been by his door. Multiple people had really, but two scents stood out among the rest. One he didn’t recognize, but was faintly reminiscent of alcohol, whiskey or rum, and whoever it belonged to had been by a few times. Enough that he was reasonably sure they were a maid. The other was the same one that had wafted off Willis when he’d shown up at the bar weeks ago, before everything went to shit. 

 

The muddy and thick scent of Chester Campbell. 

 

A gentle knock echoed through his room, sending fear rocketing through him like lightning. He’d checked the lock on the door multiple times, and made sure not to be tailed. Campbell hadn’t found him yet, he was suspicious, guessing correctly that he’d hidden in this hotel, but he had he’d be dead if Campbell knew. He needed to get out. Needed to escape London, Campbell, the Peaky Blinders, and that mad fucker of a mate Tommy Shelby married. 

 

The knock echoed again, louder. He pulled his gun close, and crawled carefully off of the bed, moving to the door. It was just past seven in the morning, who was even up? The scent wasn’t recognizable, sweet, fruity maybe? Certainly not an alpha. He hid the gun behind himself, and pulled the door open a crack. 

 

A short, dark haired older woman greeted him, smiling as her fruity scent spilled around the room.  

 

“I’m so sorry to wake you, but I’ve knocked on a few doors and everyone seems to be asleep.” She stepped nearer to him, whispering conspiratorially. I think my door is jammed and I can’t get it open, May I borrow you? It’ll be just a second,” She looked appreciatively at his arms. “You look strong enough to open it.” 

 

He looked behind her, and down the empty hallway. She seemed harmless enough, and Campbell’s scent wasn’t very strong. He could hide in plain sight with this woman as well, as Campbell would likely overlook her. Stowing the gun on the side table, he closed his door and followed her closely through the winding hallway. 

 

She paused in front of her room, jiggling the door handle once to double check.

 

“It’s just stuck. Give it a good shove for me will you?” She asked kindly. “I can’t believe they don’t check these doors before renting them.” 

 

He nodded and grabbed the handle, already planning how he’d invite himself in for tea, she seemed like the motherly type. Probably had biscuits in her bag. Stepping back, he twisted the handle and threw his weight forward, falling with a shout as the door flew open without an ounce of trouble. It slammed into the wall behind him, the weight of his push tossing him into the room where he landed in a heap on the ground. 

 

“Silly me, must’ve forgotten to push,” The woman said, her kind tone evaporating as she shut the door behind her and locked it with a loud click. “Ada love, get your gun.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos if you guessed whodunnit! If you liked it please leave a comment below, they make my heart full. ❤️


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie debates how he can do his job best, and Ada is concerned for Polly's mental state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been rewritten so many times, please be gentle with it. <3

-Alfie-

 

Alfie pulled a suit coat out, holding it to the light and pretending to search for wrinkles as he watched Tommy from the corner of his eye. 

 

He’d been sat on the bed, staring forward since they’d gotten him up, his face paling further and further as Arthur appeared more frequently in their room. 

 

“You’re not coming?” Tommy whispered, sunken blue eyes massive as he asked. Again. 

 

Dull, gray light cut across their bedroom, highlighting their exhausted, miserable states. Alfie desperately wanted to bundle Tommy back into the bed. They had to get out of this house. Maybe Birmingham? Tommy would probably like to be back home? Or maybe somewhere entirely different? The countryside, he had a house near Margate. 

 

“No, love. Arthur is though,” Alfie set the coat down, stepping over and kneeling in front of Tommy. “We haven’t talked about how to handle business deals yet, since-” He stopped short as Tommy’s face paled again. “Sweetheart, you’ve been very clear in the past. I’m not involved in the Peaky Blinders. You don’t want me digging into all of your business, you used to make me swear I’d never get involved.” 

 

Tommy’s shoulders curled in on themselves, thoughts Alfie couldn’t track racing across his eyes. 

 

“Arthur will be there though, and he’ll,” Look out for you, protect you, keep you safe. He brushed a hand through Tommy’s hair, pressing a kiss into his forehead. “He’ll be there.” 

 

He looked back over at Tommy’s coat, sighing internally. This suit wasn’t going to fit, and his hair had grown shaggier than Tommy liked in the last few weeks, to say nothing of how pale he was. 

 

His stomach soured, bonfire shifting as he thought of Campbell. He was going to love this. Tommy used to stew for days after meeting with him, sometimes weeks. When he was particularly bothered, he’d tell Alfie about it. Always making sure to steer clear of why he dealt with the awful man, and why he had to continue dealing, but was unable to keep all of it bottled up anymore. 

 

Usually, it was Campbell’s treatment of his family, or his opinions on their heritage and culture. Once or twice though, he’d come home worse off. A weight pressing on him, dulling his eyes and rotting his scent. He’d loop the living room, nearly wearing a track into the rug as he paced. Alfie hadn’t ever been able to get an answer out of him, just a pair of long suffering eyes. He’d try to lure him into a cuddle, find some way to ease his spiraling thoughts, and calm him down for a moment, but never managed to fully calm him down. He was doubtful it would work today as well. Campbell was going to know. 

 

Alfie’s heart clenched, his throat going dry as more bonfire went ashen. Tommy shouldn’t meet with him, he was going to break whatever remained of his near shattered mental state. 

 

Tommy’s head swung up, his hands stuttering out and reaching up to brush over his shoulders, trying to soothe him. He flinched as Alfie grabbed ahold of his hands, pulling them off his shoulder and setting them into Tommy’s lap, patting them 

 

“Listen to me love, alright?” He said, a piercing, stabbing feeling joining his aching heart as Tommy began nodding before he’d finished. “If Campbell makes you feel uncomfortable, please, please leave. Tell Arthur you’re done and you’re going to go. Don’t let Campbell make you feel trapped.” 

 

Breathing shakily, Tommy nodded. 

 

Alfie wasn’t sure what Campbell held over Tommy that he needed to meet with him so urgently, when they’d first met he’d offered Alfie a new relationship with the police, but certainly these meetings weren’t how he’d gotten that help? Darby worked with police as well, and none of them bothered him to the extent Campbell bothered Tommy. 

 

This was going to be the longest meeting of Alfie’s life. He might as well leave. He should. He should leave and work at the bakery, see what’s happened since he’d been gone and talk with people. People who weren’t Arthur. He hadn’t had a real conversation since before Arthur, and neither of them had any actual interest in being too friendly. They should though, Tommy would like it. He needed something to like right now. 

 

Getting ready had felt like preparing for war all over again. The constant rushing around, and awful  waiting in between decisions and plans. His nerves had been screaming louder and louder each time Tommy looked his way, double checking what he’d decided was ok. He wasn’t cut out to be the one in charge of all of these decisions.

 

Tommy had scarcely left his side, not quite touching him, but never more than an arm's reach away either. When Arthur finally opened the door to leave, Alfie felt they might see a resurgence of their old Tommy. His hopes quietly whispering excitedly, just for a moment as Tommy’d nearly thrown Arthur’s arm off to turn back to Alfie and say fuck it all. He seemed to consider it at least.

 

He’d asked Arthur once if he’d let him come with, and just wait outside. In the car or around the corner, but Arthur had promised they’d be alright and ushered Alfie back into the house. 

 

“One meeting Alfie, it’s one meeting. We’ll be alright.” Arthur had whispered, scratching gently at his swollen black eye. “It’ll do him some good to get outside for a minute, and for you to have a break.” 

 

Alfie nodded, half agreeing. He didn’t want a break, he wanted to bring Tommy back into the house where no one could hurt him. He watched as Arthur tugged Tommy out the door though, his heart nearly tearing in two as Tommy’s eyes had snapped, constantly searching the street, and flinching as noise, people and cars filled the air. He kept spinning around to spot Alfie as well, maybe to double check it was ok to be leaving, maybe to double check Alfie hadn’t decided to leave him. 

 

What if Arthur took him away for good? 

 

Alfie’s stomach dropped, souring instantly in his stomach and turning everything to ash in his mouth. What if they’d had it, and were taking him away? Did families normally tell the mates afterwords? Let them know their loved ones weren’t coming home?

 

A sharp whine stole out of him at that thought. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t take Tommy away. This line of questioning wasn’t going to do him any good. Polly had promised she wouldn't take Tommy away unless he’d asked, and he hadn’t asked, not that Alfie knew of. 

 

They drifted past his line of sight, fading into the busy, misty street. The damp ached at his knee, seeming to soak into his body. Tommy shouldn’t be out in it, he was going to be cold. Cold, and nervous. 

 

It’s just one short meeting, he could do this. 

 

One hand scrubbed through his beard, anxiety itching down his back. He had promised to always protect Tommy, and sending him to Campbell in this state felt like he was ignoring that promise.

 

The Millen hotel, wasn’t it?

 

-Ada-

 

Watching Kent squirm wasn’t as satisfying as Ada had hoped. Once Polly had said who they were he’d gone limp, hardly putting up a fight as they’d tied him up. They’d let him worry for a bit after that. Waiting and allowing them to watch as he realized the inevitability of his situation. Ada had wanted to stab him until he told them who hired him, and Polly promised there’d be time for that later, but she had a few alternate solutions she wanted to try first. 

 

Kent twitched, jerking and whimpering as Polly moved closer after what felt like hours. This cowering man, who had felt so powerful when he’d grabbed Tommy off the street, was actually a sobbing, pathetic excuse of a human being. 

 

Her eyes slid shut as images of Tommy trying to fight back exploding in her mind. Images of Tommy, wandering the Thames, business meetings and Alfie on his mind, happy as could be expected as he planned his day. When a group of people clearly targeting him dart out from behind a building and just bundle him into a car. Did Tommy see them coming? Had he fought back?

 

Of course Tommy fought back. Ada scoffed. Arthur had taught them all how to fight back.

 

He’d have kicked and shoved, maybe put a few down as well, but how had he felt against so many people? Hopeless? Did he know his family would come save him? Was he afraid, or had he started out confident?

 

Tommy had never spoken with her about it, but they shared a similar fear, as all omegas do. It could happen. Birmingham was well known for being dangerous, and Ada was certain her family name had saved her more than once, Tommy probably felt the same way. Before he’d begun to rake in real money, before marrying and mating with Alfie, even before shooting Billy Kimber. He had to have worried about it. 

 

It was difficult to reconcile this awful man, who smelled like rotting water, and trembled in fear as Polly closed in, with the one who had raped Tommy. This shuddering wreck wouldn’t have scared Tommy. 

 

But then, Tommy had been all alone, surrounded by multiple alphas, tied down, drugged and unable to fight back. If it had been a fair fight, things would’ve been different.

 

Anger pooled in her stomach again, eating at her misery and leaving her wanting to cut him, hurt him like he’d hurt Tommy. Had he seen Tommy trembling? Fearful, aching, and humiliated. How could he have missed it? He saw it and did it anyway.

 

“Mr. Kent,” Polly began. 

 

“Don’t kill me.” 

 

Polly smiled, a hard, thin lipped smile Ada had seen multiple times growing up. 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“I haven’t told anyone, I haven’t sold any information anywhere,” Kent paused, swallowing thickly. “I could’ve sold it everywhere, could’ve told anyone who listened!” His voice climbed high as Polly took another step closer, fear shaking his tone.

 

“And I’m to decide you shouldn’t die, because you didn’t tell anyone?” Polly asked. 

 

“And because I took care of him, made sure he had water and-Jesus fuck!” Kent screamed, flinching left as Polly’s knife flew, digging into the chair and cutting through his left ear. Blood spilled down his chin, dripping onto his shoulder as his wide eyes flashed around the room, trying to follow their hands. How Tommy had killed Henry Latham likely very heavy in his mind. 

 

Ada stepped around the chair, yanking the knife out and flicking it in front of Kent, nearly coughing as his fearful watery scent oozed out from him, and coated over her. 

 

“You took care of him,” Polly repeated, her eyes narrowing as they tracked over his face. “Would you like the same care he had?” 

 

Kent’s voice creaked, his breath nervously whistling as he gasped desperately. 

 

“Didn’t think so.” Polly shook her head. “But, we don’t always get what we want. Do we?” 

 

It felt like they’d been at this for ages, planning, logistics, questions. It had taken the better part of the morning. Agreeing on what to ask him and what not to. The biggest question, beyond who had hired him, was if he knew that they didn’t know who planned it. They weren’t willing to let that become a bargaining chip for him though. Ada was unsure how it would play out. 

 

“Why did you agree when he hired you?” Polly’s eyes hardened. 

 

“He promised we’d be paid! We’d be paid and our debts cleared, and he said that it’d be-” Kent stopped short, coughing as a shudder ran through him. 

 

“It’d be.” Polly asked, cider smoking. 

 

Polly’d been remarkably calm this entire time, as she’d investigated and uncovering everything. Never having snapped at any of them throughout the last week, keeping a clear and calm head as she’d dug into London’s dark underbelly. Quick, precise and angry. 

 

She’d only seen Polly like this once before, back when Michael and Anna had been taken. That terrifying combination of capable and deadly, as Polly went town to town, searching, in a fierce protective rage to get her children back. Even when she’d come home at the end, unsuccessful, she’d never lost her anger. Although Ada mistakenly thought she had. She continued instead to store it safely, letting that fearsome rage hide until the right moment. Saving it to use on one person, in one moment. 

 

Ada had never wanted to see it. It had scared her then and it scared her now. Polly’s vast dangerous anger. No one should be that level headed and that angry at the same time. 

 

Polly’s eyebrows raised, and she nodded at Kent to continue. 

 

“Victimless.” Kent choked out as more cider smoked, clouding through the room. 

 

“Victimless.” Polly repeated. Her knife flew out again, burying itself into into Kent’s thigh, wrenching a high pitched shriek from him. 

 

Kent screamed, shrieking and pleading with anyone who could hear him, begging for someone to come save him. 

 

“Don’t bother,” Polly snapped, pulling another knife from her bag. “I’ve bought the surrounding rooms, and paid everyone else off.” 

 

Kent’s soul seemed to drop out of his body at her words. His shoulders sank as he slipped down the chair they’d tied him to, head lolling as his death became inevitable.

 

“Difficult to handle when you’re on this side of things, isn’t it?” She asked. “It’s very hard to imagine, the pain and fear a person can feel in your position, but-“

 

“You know what? I said the same thing to your fucking nephew.” Kent spat. Some amount of courage seeming to creep into him, aching pain and anger mixing disastrously into bravery in light of his death. “Given how many people you arseholes have killed, I think it was fair.” He said, gasping as the knife in his thigh knocked into the chair. “Someone needed to cut him down to size, and we’ve done it. Your nephew is a bad lay Polly Gray.” Kent smiled. “He’s a bad lay, and everyone will know it. You won’t be able to keep that policeman quiet, you can kill me-”

 

“It was Campbell then?” Polly spun around, staring harshly into Kent’s eyes. 

 

Kent froze, chest heaving as he stared at them, confusion spreading across his forehead as he tried to follow Polly’s question. 

 

“Ada, call-” 

 

Ada was already halfway out the door, tearing through the hallway and down the staff staircase as she dodged around maids and bellhops. The four floors in between her and the telephone felt impossibly far. 

 

What time was it? Had Tommy left yet?

 

-Chester Campbell-

 

Thomas Shelby looked wrecked. 

 

He’d walked in, a slight curl to his shoulders as he trailed uneasily after Arthur Shelby, nearly flinching as Arthur pushed into the private room he’d booked, 

 

It was lovely. Beautiful in a way operas, and art museums could never hope to aspire to. A well orchestrated plan, working so smoothly to break down that little sewer rat. Obscenely large blue eyes sunken, going grey, and gaunt features stark on his pale face. He was a thin parody of the annoying prick he’d been. 

 

Excitement welled him inside himself again, turning over his earthy scent, as a renewed sense of pride rushed through him. Months of planning well spent. Thomas should’ve been more careful. He shouldn’t have been doing business with alphas, or anyone above his class. Who on earth did he think he was? Winston Churchill? 

 

Arthur walked briskly toward him, Thomas never more than a foot behind, his hands stowed deeply in his pockets, eyes barely leaving the ground. 

 

He wished suddenly, that he’d found a moment to get to the opium den. A giddy joy bubbling up in him at the thought of watching Thomas struggling against those stronger than him, to see him drugged and screaming. The little rat had always lorded himself over him, teasing that coy scent. He’d only had two things he’d wanted them to teach him, and they’d barely had him for a few days, but it seemed to have done the trick. It looked beaten into him now. 

 

Listen to your betters, and don’t misbehave. 

 

Rising from his chair, he held his cane up, stopping them in their tracks and nodding at Arthur. Noting a painful looking black eye, and Thomas’ inability to look him in the face. 

 

“Mr. Shelby, you don’t look well,” He started, pushing his cane into Arthur’s arm, trying to move him to the side and get a better look at Thomas. “I was led to believe you were on holiday.” 

 

“Family business.” Arthur folded his arms, dirty rain clouding around them as he pushed back on Chester’s cane, refusing to budge. 

 

“Family business?” He asked. 

 

“Right.” Arthur answered, close lipped. 

 

“Am I not as close as family, have we not discussed my knowledge of your comings and goings, Mr. Shelby?” He spread his arms wide, smiling as Thomas’s eyes tracked his hands. 

 

“Unrelated to-”

 

“My question was for Thomas,” Chester cut Arthur off. “I think you’re free to leave us, Arthur. My meeting is with the boss.” 

 

“No, Tommy’s-”

 

“Not the boss anymore?” He sniffed and folded his hands. “Has there been some restructuring?” 

 

It would serve their miserable little family right. Removing Thomas and reinstating Arthur. They’d have some decorum then at least, being run by an alpha and not by a bloody omega. 

 

“A good move, Arthur you do command quite a bit more respect, and Thomas of course, with your delicate nature, business must stress you out quickly.” 

 

Thomas blinked up at him, an ounce of something Campbell couldn’t track creeping behind his eyes. He didn’t move out past Arthur though. 

 

“Tommy is still the boss, John and I have been taking on a few more roles though-”

 

“Thomas, this meeting will feel very one sided if you find yourself unable to speak.” Chester tapped his cane, sitting down and resting his leg. “Arthur, if you’re not the boss, you may leave.” He flicked his finger at the door, and pulled out a packet. “As I said, my meeting is with the boss.” 

 

“It’s a family business, like I said.” Arthur said quickly, gruff anger spilling over his tone. “I’ll be staying.” 

 

“You have quite the protector for a brother Thomas, I was under the impression you handled business on your own.” He gestured to the table, pushing one of the chairs out as he spoke. “Sit down.” 

 

Arthur pushed his own chair out, barely hiding the concerned look on his face as Thomas all but fell into his chair, eager to behave. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could never find a way to say thank you enough for reading my story, I am eternally grateful. Thank you so much. If you liked it, please leave a comment below! It soothes my anxiety and fuels my writing! and they make my day like you wouldn't believe. Thank you! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings are finished, information is shared and it rains. Again.

-Arthur-

 

How much longer could one meeting be? Weren’t they normally five minutes? Five short minutes filled with angry words, spat across a dim hallway as tenuous agreements remained in tact? Tommy’s face had gone progressively whiter as Campbell spoke, his eyes widening uneasily when Campbell’s hands came close as he gestured. 

 

He was deeply uncomfortable. Uncomfortable, scared and miserable. How could Arthur justify keeping him here? He needed the meeting, but they could leave it early, couldn’t they? 

 

Tommy’s hands were trembling, but the shaking didn’t climb up his arms and over his shoulders. There was no shell-shocked look either, so Arthur was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to slip into bad memories, but his breathing wasn’t very even, and he’d taken to staring just over Campbell’s shoulder, fear leaving him unable to look him in the eye. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he’d say he was angry. 

 

An angry Tommy would be a welcome relief. Unless it was anything like when he’d thrown that knife at Sutherland’s friend. He’d had every reason to be angry then though, there was less reason now, or Arthur felt there was less reason.  

 

Campbell was awful, but he hadn’t said anything worse than usual, and Tommy had always ignored his demeaning comments on omegas. _‘When he says it over and over, it tends to lose its meaning.’_ Tommy’s voice whispered from the back of his mind. That wasn’t always true though. Every time they got a dirty look, or a snide remark for being a traveller, it ached just as much as the first time it had been said. Arthur wasn’t an omega, but he knew they put up with more prejudice than alphas or betas. Especially in their line of work, where any client they met immediately assumed Arthur or John was in charge and sometimes went as far as to presume Tommy was there for them. As though he was some kind of, gift. 

 

Arthur shuddered and grimaced at himself as both Tommy and Campbell blinked towards him, concern coloring Tommy’s face, and apathy on Campbell’s. He threw a look over Campbell’s shoulder, mimicking Tommy, and focusing on the overly nice glass window behind him. 

 

Thick gold drapes bracketed it, falling heavily to the floor and brushing up against the plush runners softening the dark oak beneath their feet. Strong perfume clung to everything as well, creating a cloyingly sweet scent. The overly posh hotel was well known for its rich clientele and expensive taste. They couldn’t have stuck out more with their peaky hats and dusty coats. Scoffed at entering and likely to be sneered at exiting. Although the door behind Campbell looked like a safer exit than the front entrance. He didn’t want to put Tommy through their dirty looks again. 

 

Given their state, he couldn’t begrudge them for looking closer though, with Tommy nearly swallowed by his suit and his hat hung low. Arthur’s black eye hadn’t helped either. They looked more like the beggars they’d grown up as, rather than the accomplished business men they promised they were.

 

Dragging Tommy in this condition across London had felt cruel, but he’d needed to get him out of that house. He would’ve accepted anything, but Campbell’s meeting was too great an excuse to force him out and away from Alfie. 

 

Was he angry he’d been forced to the meeting? 

 

Arthur blinked, his eyes dropping from the window and back to Tommy’s hands, where they were still clenched and trembling in his lap. He hadn’t said he didn’t want to go. He hadn’t reacted at all actually, beyond nodding, and looking again, to Alfie. They’d only gotten a reaction when Alfie said he wasn’t coming. 

 

A horrible, pitiful reaction, now seared into Arthur’s memories. All wide, betrayed eyes. He wasn’t ready to say Alfie had something to do with this, not until he heard the words from Kent. Not until Kent said his name. 

 

“You’re looking faint again, Thomas” Campbell broke through his musings, flipping over a sheet in his packet. “Perhaps you should call your mate and go on home.” 

 

“Tommy stays.” Arthur said quickly. 

 

“It feels cruel to allow him to sit through a meeting if he doesn’t feel well.” 

 

“I’m not allowing him-” 

 

“Where is his mate?” Campbell paused, licking his thumb as he turned a few more pages. “Alfie Solomons, isn’t it?” He sniffed at the name, a sour looking crossing his face and dampening his muddy scent. 

 

“Alfie’s not here.” Tommy said, coughing as his voice cracked from disuse. 

 

Arthur’s head swung around, shock bolting through him at the sound of Tommy’s voice. A steely glare peered out from behind his eyes for a moment, before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. 

 

He was angry Alfie wasn’t here then. That made sense. He hadn’t wanted to leave without him and was probably very worried Alfie would punish him for anything he did while he was away. He wouldn’t have to worry too long, Arthur would get him to Polly, and she’d decide if Tommy needed to be taken home. Safe and sound back in Birmingham. No more Alfie, no more terror, Ada would probably come home as well. 

 

“Odd that he’d allow you to come to a meeting in such bad shape Thomas,” Campbell started. 

 

“Alfie said it was-”

 

“Alfie’s not in charge of where he goes.” Arthur cut Tommy off, leaning forward and crossing his arms over the table. Petrichor sinking around them. _“Alfie said it was ok.”_ Ringing sickly in his ears. 

 

“Far be it from me to dictate what his mate allows him to do, Arthur,” Campbell smiled at him, his grin growing as he turned to Tommy. “So long as he-”

 

“As I said,” Arthur snapped, drawing Campbell’s attention once more. “Alfie’s not in charge of where he goes, nor has he ever had an opinion on what Tommy is allowed to do.” 

 

Tommy flinched, half choked words threatening to explode out, desperate to correct him. 

 

Arthur couldn’t explain it, Campbell’s smile. Just that it seemed to brighten as his muddy scent dried out, twisting into fresh earth and nearly overtaking the hotel’s perfume. 

 

He wasn’t interested in explaining his smile, and Arthur didn’t feel confident enough to ask. As the meeting went on it was ever present, bright and cheerful. Tommy began to grow more agitated with it as well, faint trembling crawling up his wrists and shuddering through his shoulders. 

 

Campbell closed his notebook finally, a few more notes scribbled in the margins, and several new plans agreed upon. Although Tommy hadn’t said a word since Alfie had been brought up. 

 

“I believe that’s everything I wanted to cover in this meeting, you’re free to go.” Campbell said, rising and pushing in his chair. 

 

Arthur shoved his chair backwards, jumping at the chance to leave. Tommy seemed less inclined though, staying seated as he stared up at Campbell. 

 

“On you go Thomas, I’ll let you know when you’ll be meeting with me again.” Campbell said, gesturing with his cane at the doorway. “Expect to hear from me soon, this holiday of yours has cut into valuable time.” 

 

Looping an arm around Tommy, Arthut tugged him up when he didn’t budge. Nerves itching up and down his back, hoping against hope Tommy didn’t lose it and panic in front of Campbell. 

 

“Come on Tommy,” Arthur whispered, pulling him along easily. The pale, shaky look on his face worrying him more with each passing second. ‘Don’t panic, please don’t panic.’ Pleading loudly in his mind. They slid uneasily past Campbell and out the back door, cool air in the alley dampening them instantly as Arthur steered Tommy down the left side, one hand tight on his wrist as he led them away. 

 

“You’re certainly well behaved now, aren't you?” Campbell murmured lowly, his voice barely echoing through the alley.  

 

Tommy froze, forcing Arthur to stop.

 

“What?” Arthur asked, blinking at Campbell. Concern turning to confusion and rocking uneasily through him as Tommy twisted around to look at Campbell. Holly fluttered through the air, struggling to choose between sweet and rotten as he stared. 

 

“Merely an observation, hardly noteworthy.” Campbell sniffed. “Your holiday seems to have soothed your more obstinate nature, and made you more agreeable.” He leaned backwards, glancing at looming storm clouds. “It suits you.” 

 

A dull rumble of thunder rolled above them. Rain dripping too lightly to call a storm, but certainly heading that way. Tommy’s eyes narrowed, a sharp look crossing his face as stepped closer to Campbell, only stopping when Arthur refused to let go of his hand. 

 

“It was you.” He breathed, his voice near silent. 

 

“What?” Arthur asked again, this time staring at Tommy. He tugged him closer, urging him to spin around and come closer. 

 

“Thomas-”

 

“It was you!” Tommy shuddered, his shoulders trembling as he shouted. “You hired-”

 

“Thomas, you’re tired, and ill.” Campbell started calmly, one hand rising placatingly. 

 

“Because of you!” Tommy shrieked, spinning too fast for Arthur to follow, throwing himself closer to Arthur again and ripping his coat to the side, furiously pulling out his gun. 

 

Arthur grabbed at him, his eyes wide Tommy tugged hard, refusing to let go of the gun. Confusion wracking through him as he tried to put Tommy’s reasoning together. His mind racing to catch up. Campbell always hated Tommy, and he was cruel when the spirit moved him, never treating him, or omegas well in general, but did he have it in him to put someone through what Tommy’d gone through? 

 

Polly had said ages ago as well, that Campbell made a point to find her and let her know he’d missed their last appointment. He’d done that plenty of times though, threatening them as he liked if he saw them on the street. 

 

“Tommy hold on,” Arthur said, struggling to gently hold him still. “We still need him, I don’t think he did anything,”

 

“Listen to your brother Thomas, you’re clearly feeling unwell.” 

 

“No! No, Arthur listen,” Tommy said, his voice straining as frustration stained his cheeks red and he tugged at Arthur’s grip. “He did it, he-”

 

“Enough!” Campbell snapped, his sharp tone echoed through the alleyway, forcing Tommy limp in his grip. “Whatever you think I’ve done, I haven’t, and this behavior of yours won’t be tolerated, Thomas. Get a hold of yourself. I will not be accused of crimes I did not commit.” His cane hit the ground hard, a sharp crack adding a ringing finality to his tone.

 

Tommy shuddered in Arthur’s grip, his eyes turning pleading as he looked up at him. 

 

“Arthur, I was supposed to meet with him that day, on the docks,” Tommy whispered, “I showed up but he didn’t, and then that awful man did,” Coughing, his voice rose and holly struggled to sweeten as he tried to explain. His hands clenched tight around the gun. “Polly’s list, her list of names and information, one was in police custody, and another had been found dead in a river, Arthur please!” 

 

Arthur paused, his eyebrows drawing together nervously the more Tommy spoke as logic fell together for once. 

 

“That man, Kent,” Tommy nodded violently in Arthur’s arms. “Kent said-”

 

Tommy was wrenched backwards suddenly, and cane was shoved hard into Arthur’s shoulder, throwing him to the ground as Campbell dragged Tommy a few steps away. Thick, mud coating the alley as Campbell fumed above him. Kent. They weren’t supposed to have found Kent. Whether Campbell knew they had, or if he thought Tommy was just remembering, it didn’t look like it made a difference. 

 

Alfie hadn’t had anything to do with it. Arthur had been wrong. 

 

Something cracked in the back of his mind, a heavy blanket of shock falling over him, weakening his arms, and leaving him still. 

 

Tommy jerked, scrabbling at Campbell’s arms and trying to pull away, his voice straining as he struggled. Large eyes wide as Campbell shook him. 

 

Shock evaporated in an instant as a burning anger tore through him and he launched upwards. One shining moment of clarity clearing his thoughts as he bolted closer, rushing forward to grab Tommy back. Everything that happened, all because of this police officer. One cruel, evil man. How could he organize something like this? 

 

Pulling Tommy up harshly, Campbell tore the gun from Tommy’s hand and pointed it at his head. 

 

“Settle down now,” Campbell seethed, anger rippling across his own face. 

 

-Ada-

 

Ada nearly fell as she skittered to a stop in front of the hotel, air heaving out of her as she tried to catch her breath. Two weeks of never leaving that house, and now no one was home. How could no one be home?  

 

Throwing herself forward, she ran up to the massive glass doors, grabbing at the handle and pushing it open, her heart in her throat. The door swung open, pulling her with it until a disheveled looking doorman grabbed her and shoved her backwards. 

 

“Pardon miss, I believe you have the wrong address.” 

 

Ada jerked backwards as he moved to close the door, confusion and anger burning at her whiskey. 

 

“This is the Millen Hotel, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice cracking as she struggled to catch her breath. 

 

“Yes.” The doorman said with a sneer, tugging the gloves tighter on his hands. His uniform looked rumpled, and almost as if it was recently pulled off. Or nearly pulled off? A faint bruise colored his eye as well. 

 

“Then it’s the correct address, excuse me.” She squared her shoulders, moving to push past him. 

 

“Correct address or not ma’am, we have a dress code, and in your current state, you’re not welcome.” 

 

“I’m not here to book a room, I’m here for my bro-”

 

“Good day.” 

 

The door shut hard as she darted forward again, pushing hard on the heavy iron handle. 

 

“Leave, or we’ll call the police.” A muffled voice called from behind the glass. 

 

Swearing violently, she turned and ran back down the busy street, ideas and plans dying as her mind spun. She could call in and get their room number, maybe even ask for Arthur? Would they take messages? They’d likely been upset allowing Arthur and Tommy in dressed as they were, they probably didn’t want anything more to do with them. A back entrance maybe? 

 

Pacing frustratedly, she considered the hotel. Trying to imagine where the easiest employee entrance would be, and how difficult it might be to sneak into. If she found them though, could she keep herself from killing Campbell? 

 

‘Absolutely not, shoot him soon as you seen him.’ Why shouldn’t he die? Anyone angry and cruel enough to purposefully order gang rape needed to die. Painfully. But if she shot him in the hotel, people would come running. Plain clothes officers likely hiding in case of that exact event. 

 

A low whine cried out of her as her shoulders dropped, misery churning in her stomach and souring her whiskey. Tommy was suffering through a meeting with that fucker. He’d spent three days enduring hell because of that fucker. Campbell deserved to die. She’d kill him one way or another, but she needed to get Tommy and Arthur our first. Focus. First, get them out. Get in and find the room they’re meeting at. Only Campbell would plan a meeting in a place as fucking stuck up as this one. 

 

Taking a deep breathe, she tried slowed her pacing, pulling at damp hair curling and sticking to her forehead, and rubbing her nose. 

 

She paused, freezing in her steps as bonfire whispered at her, nearly indecipherable amongst the stronger scents clogging London. 

 

Scenting the air and breathing deeper, she found more. Alfie. Alfie was here, somewhere. 

 

Spinning on her heel, she searched the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. His scent was faint, but present. He couldn’t be too far away. Trailing backwards, she tracked it around the back of the hotel. 

 

“Alfie?” She called down the alleyway, leaning and peeking around the corner. 

 

Pulling her gun out, she scented the area again. Her nose burning around a cloying perfume that stank from the hotel as she rounded a corner and followed the scent left and right as it wound through the connecting alleys. 

 

“Solomons!” She began moving quicker, jumping over a few boxes and nearly tripping as she slid and landed in a puddle. The hotel was large, and took up the entire block, with thin winding alleys hidden behind it forming a maze of paths used by neighboring houses for everything from laundry lines to small businesses. 

 

Once off the main road you’d think you’d wound up back in Birmingham, as streams of smoke thickened above her head, clouding her sight and dirtying recently cleaned sheets. 

 

“Alfie!” She tried again, gasping as she ran. 

 

“Ada?!” Alfie shouted back, his voice coming nearby to her left. 

 

He quickly appeared, his cane missing and jacket flipped open. He looked worse than her even, red faced and manic as he breathed deeply. 

 

“Why the fuck are you here?” Alfie asked, suspicion narrowing his eyes and curling at his shoulders. 

 

“It was Campbell!” Ada coughed. “Campbell organized it!” 

 

Alfie froze, his eyes widening as the color ran from his face. More thoughts than she could follow racing across his eyes. Shock, anger, regret, bitterness. 

 

“We have to get them out-”

 

“They’re not in their anymore,” He said, head spinning as he scented the air. “I can’t find them, I thought Arthur had taken him-”

 

“Taken him?” Ada blinked up, following his lead and scenting as well. “Taken him where?” 

 

“Away from me!” He shouted, spinning back around to glare at her. 

 

A sharp wind rippled through the alleyway, throwing laundry and trash as it pushed them hard, tearing down the narrow passage. Rain and dirt coating them as a rumble of thunder echoed. 

 

“Arthur can’t take him away Alfie.” Ada said, whiskey burning as a low pain ached in her heart. He’d been trying so hard. So unbelievably hard. Polly had kept her informed, keeping her ready if they had to move Tommy, but she’d said every time that Alfie had done a better job taking care of him than any of them. 

 

Rain dripped down on them lightly, single drops darkening the dirty cobblestones. They would never be able to find Arthur like this, rain on rain. 

 

“We wouldn’t-”

 

Alfie twisted again, his nose twitching as he moved, manic eyes lighting up again. Dirt and damp wood itched at her nose as she scented as well, the pungent perfume coating everything and eviscerating anything helpful. 

 

“Holly,” Alfie breathed, tearing down an alley on her right and sliding to a stop, puddled water cascading around as he moved. She followed quickly. “I can smell,” He broke off, struggling to pinpoint Tommy’s scent. 

 

Ada paused behind him, her eyes closing as she focused. 

 

Hide and seek games they played when they were children dancing in her mind. Tommy had always been the easiest to find, holly giving him away in the dirty city. Ada had been right behind him, until she learned to start hiding in breweries. 

 

Rotten holly breezed past her, coming from Alfie’s side, she tilted around him and dashed forward, shouting Tommy’s name as she ran, Alfie close on her heels. 

 

-Tommy-

 

“Don’t answer. Either of you.” Campbell shook him hard. 

 

Tommy struggled to breathe, gasping wildly as Campbell’s hand tightened around his throat. The cold end of a gun pushing into his head, as spots danced across his vision and he scratched at Campbell’s arm. Ada’s shouts ringing in his mind. 

 

Throwing a trash can to the side, Arthur stepped closer, a fearsome anger marring his face. 

 

“What’s done is done Arthur. Settle down now,” 

 

Arthur’s eyes darkened as his stance widened, rage pulsing off of him as his petrichor turned stormy. Ada shouted again, Alfie’s voice echoing as well. 

 

“Arthur,” Campbell said again slowly, pressing Tommy close to his front. “Settle down. You don’t want to lose your head, and there’s no need for violence right now. I won’t touch your little brother, lord knows he’s whored himself out enough,” He took a step backwards, pulling Tommy with him. “But I’m going to need him for a few minutes, you’ll get him back unharmed as soon as I’m safe.”

 

“You’re safe?” Arthur croaked, blinking down at Tommy, a mix of fear and anger spilling out from him.

 

“Tommy?!” Alfie’s voice shouted, closer still. 

 

“I’ll do worse to him if any of you come at me, do not test me, Arthur Shelby.” 

 

Tommy’s heart pounded in his chest, horror shuddering through him as Campbell spoke. Holly rotting and dying on the spot as nausea climbed up his throat. Arthur was going to leave him. Arthur was going to leave him, and he’d be sold.  

 

“Arthur!” He choked, his voice dying in his throat, unable to get any sound out as his eyes plead at his brother. 

 

Campbell began moving faster, dragging Tommy as he backed up. The damp alleyway soaking into his trousers as his knees gave out, terror rocketing through him as he slid down, nearly falling before arms tightened around him again and wrenched him upwards. 

 

“Get up!” Campbell snarled in his ear, “Move.” 

 

They moved quickly down the alleyway as Arthur watched frozenly, and Alfie and Ada’s shouts grew quiet again. 

 

He was going to be sold and raped. Again. He wasn’t ever going to see Alfie, Campbell would sell him first chance he got. 

 

He couldn’t see Arthur anymore, or hear Ada or Alfie. 

 

His heart throbbed, pulsing as it cracked open. Arthur wasn’t going to come get him and Alfie and Ada weren’t able to find him. Deeply buried fears clawed at him as they walked, climbing up out of his soul. Listen and Behave. 

 

_“No one is coming for you.” A laugh crowed in his ear. “No one wants you.”_

 

“Quiet! Quit fucking crying!” Campbell snarled at him, pulling him up again as they rounded a corner. 

 

Campbell heaved him up against a wall, pinning him with a hand on his throat. “Behave! Or is that still too difficult for you?” He asked, staring cruelly at him. 

 

Tommy gasped wetly, clawing at Campbell’s hand as it closed tighter over his windpipe, his knees drawing upwards as he kicked out. 

 

“Tommy!” Ada screamed, far closer than she had been earlier. 

 

Campbell swung around, shock clear in his eyes as he caught sight of her running up the alley. His hand closed tighter around Tommy’s neck as he quickly aimed the gun at her. 

 

Tommy jerked, grabbing at the gun, air rapidly dying in his lungs as he struggled. His heart nearly stopped as a shot rang out and his throat closed entirely. 

 

The hand on his neck loosened though, and Tommy slid down the wall, landing hard on the ground. Air rushing into him as Campbell fell next to him. A massive, bloody hole where his left eye used to be. 

 

Hands pulled him upwards, Alfie’s voice surrounding him as everything began swimming and shock set in, rendering his hands numb and his legs weak. 

 

“I got you.” Alfie whispered. Warm bonfire surrounded him as sank into unconsciousness.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re probably due for some fluff now I feel like. Thank you so so much for reading, if you liked it, please comment below. I love hearing your thoughts. ❤️


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please double check the tags!

-Tommy-

 

“Fuck!” Arthur whined, his voice cracking as rain pelted them. “Fuck! Which one of you fucking shot him?!” 

 

“Who cares?” Alfie’s voice mumbled from somewhere close to Tommy’s ear. His beard brushed over his forehead, warm bonfire burning around them. _Campbell was dead_. _He wasn’t going to be sold again._

 

“He’s Chester-fucking-Campbell, Solomons!”

 

“Don’t yell at him!” Ada‘s shoes echoed as she paced up and down the alleyway. “What did you want us to do? Fucking let him strangle Tomm-”

 

“Maybe shoot him in the leg, or how about miss on purpose so we could just grab Tommy!”

 

“You think we were just going to grab Tommy and walk away?” 

 

Tommy’s eyes drifted open, bringing the blurry alley into sight. Icy rain was quickly pouring down on them, soaking everything and dotting through the pool of blood still draining from Campbell. Warm hands rubbed down his arms, rousing him, and his painfully sore throat as he looked around.

 

Alfie was on the ground, his eyes darting over him, checking everywhere for any other injuries. One of his hands brushing through his damp hair. 

 

Pushing himself up slightly, a low annoyance burned through him at continually having to catch up, and guess what had happened while he was passed out. Alfie jerked, his arms quickly moving to help him sit. 

 

“Should we hide him?” Ada turned around, whiskey burning as she spotted Tommy pushing himself up. Her eyes brushing concernedly over him as he moved. 

 

“We’re going to get lifted for this whether we hide him or not.” Arthur bent down, lifting Campbell’s coat and pulling out bloody and soaked folders. “ _‘Where was he last seen?’, ‘Doing business with the Shelby’s’,_ ” He mocked, his voice going high and low as he worried. 

 

“Well Campbell needed to keep this all quiet anyway, didn’t he? No one could know that he had a hand in it. That was why he went through Sutherland and Kent.” Ada said.

 

“Yeah, and how the hell did you two know? We'd only just found out, or really, Tommy guessed it.”  

 

“Kent told Ada and Polly.” Alfie said, gently tilting Tommy’s head upwards as he looked over his neck. Sharp pains waking as Alfie moved him. As if dull knives cut through his neck and stabbed down his throat, forcing him to struggle to breathe. Bonfire burning angrily for a second before going ashen. 

 

“Right. Kent.” Arthur’s face paled as he eyed Alfie, his eyebrows furrowing before he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fucking Campbell though.”

 

Tommy slid down in Alfie’s arms for a second, shivers rushing through him as the rain continued to soak into them.

 

A low, seething anger stole through him, burning at his insides and creeping up his throat, coating over the sharp pain still screaming from his neck. 

 

Campbell had threatened to hurt him and everyone he knew hundreds of times. He’d never liked omegas, but he did protect them on the street, and he used his badge to ensure they weren’t attacked like Tommy had been. 

 

There were whispers of his treatment of omegas though, rumors that he’d come and gone to whore houses and had hurt people there, several rumors in fact. But he’d never raped them. Tommy should’ve paid better attention. Campbell had never raped anyone, he thought he was above that. He didn’t need to rape to assert his dominance when he could order others to do it instead. 

 

His eyes glazed and drifted to stare at Campbell’s creased and angry face, mesmerized as he watched the rain run down his cheeks and drip to the ground. A faint memory of the opium den whispering threateningly at the sight of the blood draining from Campbell’s eye. 

 

What level of anger would a person need to have, to order someone to be raped? Repeatedly. Had he done this before? Murdered alphas and betas, dumped their bodies where ever he liked, and ordered gang rape on omegas.

 

“Tommy?” 

 

In all of Tommy’s research, Campbell had never ordered that on any of his enemies. Not that Tommy had all the information in existence, but something that cruel would’ve come up. There would have been a sign. He’d killed anyone he liked in Belfast, hurting who pleased, and threatening and intimidating everyone. If he’d attacked someone like this before, someone would’ve said. 

 

Maybe they hadn’t known it was him though, just like none of the Shelby’s had known. He’d kept himself hidden, using third parties and killing them after to ensure their silence to get everything done. 

 

People were sold all the time, there was no way of knowing if Campbell had a hand or not. He could ask around, see if anyone had family who’d gone missing? Or maybe Tommy was the first omega he’d come across that hadn’t rolled over in fear of him. 

 

“Tommy, love, look at me please.” 

 

He couldn’t just kill Tommy, that would never have done. He hadn’t needed to prove he was better though either, he’d probably never questioned his place in society, but he would’ve “saved” Tommy from the opium den if he’d needed to prove how much better he was. 

 

He’d needed to remind Tommy of his place in society. Of how easily he could be kidnapped and raped. Broken, humiliated and used. And then to sit across from him, and watch his grand plan work so well, to watch Tommy struggle to look at him, struggle to form a thought, struggle to not agree to everything Campbell had asked for. Terrified of doing the wrong thing, and horrified that Alfie might hear about it. 

 

 _Listen and behave._ They weren’t mindlessly cruel words, but Campbell’s specific orders. And they worked. Tommy’s breath sped up, gasping out of him as it cut up and down his throat.

 

_Listen and behave._

 

As though he was a child, getting into trouble and needing to be reprimanded. Punished. His breath caught in his lungs, choking him as the gray alley faded. 

 

_He was pulled over the bench, hands wrenching his arms aside as he tried to push himself off. Someone was shouting as he struggled, yelling and grabbing him, as he managed to nearly pull one leg free._

 

_“Stop fucking fighting!” His leg was ripped to the side and hard leather was wrapped around his ankle._

 

_“Stop!” A loud crack rang in his ears as a massive hand landed next to his head, quickly reaching over to pull on his hair. “Listen now. If you behave we’ll let you go.” Opium smoke wafted over him as the man spoke, stinging in his eyes and clouding his mind. His eyes clenched shut as fear tore through him, and he felt his shirt pushed up. Flinching as the same hand pet lightly over his back and trailing down to rub his arse._

 

_“Stay still now.” He could hear a smile in the man’s voice as he pressed a light kiss above his ear. “Good boy.” He ran a hand over Tommy’s hair._

 

_“They’re delicate creatures, omegas. You have to explain things to them, usually multiple times. They’re not the smartest things.” Tommy coughed, jerking and choking as more smoke clouded thickly around his head. The strong urge to snap back and fight growing, building with fear as the hand on his arse moved. “We’ll have to work on this one’s listening skills.” He patted Tommy’s head once, before turning, taking the heavy opium with him. “Have at it then, gentlemen.”_

 

“Tommy, love.” Alfie’s voice whispered, one arm coming across his back pulling him close. “Are you back with me?” Tommy’s heart raced, beating furiously in his chest. 

 

He nodded, throat screaming and stomach rolling as laughter rang in his ears, but faded quickly with the pounding rain.

 

His eyes were forced off of the drip from Campbell’s eye as Alfie lifted him upwards, balancing him on shaky knees. 

 

Arthur stepped across his vision, Ada close behind as they moved around Campbell. The dirty, gray alley blurring and rushing together as they walked, one hand fisting tightly into Alfie’s jacket, desperate to hold onto him, in case he disappeared. 

 

“Arthur and Ada are going to handle this, ok?” Alfie murmured, patting his hand and tucking Tommy’s coat higher over his neck. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“We’ve got it Tommy.” Ada appeared on his left, whiskey tossing between sweet and burned as she held up his flat cap. It must’ve fallen off when Campbell dragged him away. 

 

Alfie held him upright, half carrying, half guiding him out a thin service alley and across the rapidly emptying street where they huddled beneath a covered shop front. The rain poured down around them. 

 

Pulling him close, Alfie tucked his head neatly into his neck, soothing bonfire calming his pounding heart. 

 

Sniffing, his hands trembled around Tommy, quickly descending into shudders as his arms tightening and he pulled him closer. 

 

“Alfie?” He croaked, looking up. A sharp fear pulsing through him as he spoke. Bitter misery joining his fear when Campbell’s rules screamed loudly as he tried to speak. 

 

“Just a second love, just a second.” Alfie rubbed a hand over his eyes as his bonfire turned watery. Tommy blinked, the need to keep quiet and wait warring with his concern as Alfie’s eyes clenched. “I’ll get a hold of a car, call Ollie, or whoever. Just need a second. Please let me hold you for a second.” 

 

Alfie held him close, gently, despite the fierce need. 

 

Holly bloomed around them for the first time in weeks. As Tommy’s arms wound slowly around Alfie and he tucked his face back into his neck. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, worries and fears choking his words, but he could hold Alfie. Maybe Alfie could feel how much Tommy needed to hold him too. 

 

-Alfie-

 

The storm was still strong by the time they got home. Cyril greeted them by the door as Alfie pulled off his coat and tugged Tommy out of his as well, rubbing life into shivering limbs as he moved. 

 

Tommy stumbled, one hand darting out to catch himself as he fell as Alfie’s arm looped around him at the same time, every angry, worried, and concerned emotion coming up and rushing over him again. 

 

He desperately wanted to ask him how he felt, and reassure him if he could. Tell him it’d all be ok. What if it wasn’t though? They’d killed Campbell, that wasn’t going away anytime soon.

 

Righting himself, Tommy leaned against the wall, one hand climbing to rub at his neck. He needed to sit down. Sit or sleep. They both did. 

 

“I know the bed hasn’t been your favorite,” Alfie said, slowly taking Tommy’s hand and pulling him off the wall. “We can set up blankets somewhere else though, wherever you’d like,” He eyed the ceiling, the closet just above him heavy in his mind. Tommy blinked tiredly at him, shivers trembling through him, not helped by soaked clothes. “I really think we need a bath too, or a shower at least. You’ll get sick with the state you’re in.”

 

Tommy froze, his fingers clenching around Alfie’s hand. 

 

“A short, warm one. I’ll be right here,” Alfie paused, his scent struggling to warm up. “You’ll be safe, I swear. You can bring Cyril in even.” He stepped closer, rubbing a thumb over Tommy’s taught fingers. 

 

At the sound of his name Cyril whined, circling them once and looking up. 

 

“I’ll make some tea, you go dry off, and shower.” He said, pressing a kiss into his icy, damp hair. “Take your time.” 

 

Tommy moved slowly, one hand tiredly grasping the wall as he climbed the stairs, Cyril pressed close. 

 

He hoped Tommy’d be alright, hoped he wouldn’t panic and end up curled against the wall, enduring bad memories alone. He’d check on him in 20 minutes, just in case. Less if he heard a noise. He needed space though, despite how much Alfie wanted to tuck him next to him and never let go, Tommy needed space. Space to reconcile what had happened today, and moreover the last two weeks.  

 

His heart dropped, cold and aching as he thought thought of the day. Of Ada’s pale face when she found him and the fear of seeing Campbell holding Tommy. Watching as Tommy struggled to throw him off, kicking and pushing, and seeing Campbell choking him. He wasn’t sure about Campbell’s murder, if they’d get lifted or if Ada and Arthur’s plan, whatever it was, would work out, and most of all how Tommy would handle healing. 

 

Rain poured outside the windows, drilling hard against the walls as he tried to distract himself with making tea. Tommy came back downstairs soon enough, looking pale, but warm and dry. He pressed a cup into his hands and quickly ran upstairs to shower himself, desperate to get back to the kitchen and hold Tommy again. He’d nearly lost him twice now, he couldn’t go through it again. No one was taking him away, not Campbell, Kent or Arthur. Only Tommy, and only if he wanted to leave. 

 

By the time he got back Tommy had disappeared, a half drunk mug of tea left on the counter, and no sign of Cyril. He climbed back up the stairs, bonfire rushing out of him announcing himself as he padded quietly down the hallway, stopping short at the sight of the closet’s half open door. 

 

Tommy was inside, arranging blankets and pillows and crawling over Cyril. He’d pushed thicker covers against the walls and thinner ones to the side, taking care to make sure no hard surfaces remained, and any blanket that would touch him was the softest they owned. Thick pillows circled around the blankets, guarding the nest from the cold. Despite how small it was, it looked comfortable. And Tommy looked comfortable moving around it. Kneeling down, Alfie folded over a few smaller throws and stacked unused duvets.

 

“Anywhere I like, you said.” Tommy whispered, turning to face Alfie. “I like it in here, for now.” He rubbed at his throat, eyes large as the confession wracked through him. 

 

“Alright.” Alfie said, his eyes catching a second set of pillows leaning against the wall. “Are you taking all the pillows? Shall I sleep with the ones Arthur’s been using, eh?” He smiled kindly. 

 

Tommy twisted, staring at the pillows and swallowing thickly. His hands never quite leaving his throat as he thought. 

 

“There for you.” Turning back around, Tommy blinked worriedly as he spoke. “If you’d like. I’ll give them back if you don’t want to sleep in here,” He moved quickly, pulling them up and shuffling towards the door. 

 

“No!” Alfie jerked, hands darting outwards, forcing Tommy to freeze and drop one of the pillows. “No, I’d love to stay with you.” Holly wafted upwards, worried and fearful as anxious thoughts crossed his eyes as he watched Alfie. 

 

Alfie nodded, reaching over to pat Cyril’s head. 

 

Tommy moved to the side and pushed the pillows back against the wall as Alfie stepped in.

 

It was cramped, and Cyril took up the most room, but Tommy finally seemed calm. He’d padded the floor well too, taking Alfie’s back into account as he built. It wasn’t a long term plan, but he could lay here one night. 

 

Nagging fears gnawed at him as they lay, keeping him awake against the bone-deep exhaustion. Tommy’s pain, and shell shock, for lack of a better word, were likely to stay for some time, but with peace and quiet, and gentle help he might start feeling safer. It was the manipulation he worried most about though. The fear that Campbell’s cruelty was irreversible, that Tommy would always be afraid of Alfie and if he’d always worry if he was behaving and listening. Tommy didn’t deserve to go through life terrified that Alfie would punish him. And how could Alfie ever punish him? 

 

How could Campbell have been so cruel as to use Tommy’s love for him, to use their partnership as a source of pain. His throat closed up and a heavy ache pressed against him. He’d have caused less pain if he had just killed them all.

 

He’d promised to protect Tommy, he’d sworn it quietly, but it had been said all the same, and he’d failed. Failed in every manner he could. A tear escaped, dripping down his cheek and dotting into the thick blankets beneath them. Watery bonfire escaped to cloud around the small closet, rousing Tommy and Cyril. 

 

Tommy leaned upwards, looking equally as awake his Alfie, despite how comfortable and sleepy the nest was. He reached over, brushing a hand gently over Alfie’s eyes, dabbing at them until he began crying in earnest, and unable to hold back the flood.

 

Tommy pulled him close slowly, cautiously, as if waiting any second for Alfie to tell him to stop before finally settling him tucked firmly into his neck. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said there’d be some fluff last time, and I hope I delivered a bit of it, despite the angsty bits that just wanted to be written. I hope you loved it, if you did, please leave a comment below. They make my day. ❤️


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are better and things are worse.

 

-Alfie-

 

Alfie anxiously combed a hand through his hair, watching as Tommy moved around his office. A constant echo of concerns whispering in the back of his mind, _‘Has he slept? Eaten? Warm enough? Is he doing ok?’_ Tommy’s fingers brushed lightly over Alfie’s rum bottles, twisting them slightly as they caught the light. _‘Worse than before, but better than yesterday.’_ Whispered in his ear. Worse than before, but better than yesterday. 

 

“So John’s on his way then?” Alfie asked. It’d been a pleasant change, not having Arthur here for a few days. Difficult and slow, but hopeful. Never to last, as Arthur was incapable of staying away. Despite Alfie’s insistence that Tommy was doing alright, he’d turned up anyway, business and concerns shadowing his face as he stepped into Alfie’s office. 

 

“Yeah,” Arthur said, seeming to follow his eyes as he glanced at Tommy.

 

Tommy had given him a polite nod when he’d seen him, but stayed close to Alfie. 

 

 “He’ll be here soon. There’s only so much letters and telephone calls can really do,” He sniffed, swallowing around a mouthful of rum. “Been nearly three weeks now. We have to do a family meeting and discuss new plans. Ada will be around when he gets here. Haven’t heard from Polly though since-” Arthur froze, cutting himself off and looking over at Tommy. 

 

His eyes flashed to Tommy, nervousness pinching his lips. 

 

Tommy seemed unbothered, continuing to twist the bottles, sending broken fragments of light across the floor.  

 

“You can’t find Polly?” Alfie asked, his eyebrows furrowing. Tension crept up his back. They couldn’t handle another family emergency, not yet, and it wasn’t entirely out of character for her to disappear if she was working. Much like Tommy, she kept her business close, and would contact others if she felt she needed them, never the other way around. Accidents did happen though, evidenced by their current fucking situation. 

 

“Less that we can’t find her, more that we can’t get a hold of her.” 

 

“Arthur,” Alfie huffed, annoyance biting in his tone. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, forcing himself to calm down and sink into his chair. Where was Ada? He’d rather deal with her than Arthur. 

 

“Just that we’ve got people saying they’ve seen her in and out of bars and hotels, but that every time we leave a message for her she misses it!” 

 

“She probably gets them Arthur, she’s just fucking working. She’ll turn up when she’s done.” 

 

“Don’t act like you know her, you don’t.” Arthur’s eyes turned hard. “I’m worried for her. She’s got a mean streak in her, and no one’s talked with her since Ken-”

 

A bottle dropped, shattering and spilling out across the floor. 

 

Alfie stood quickly, his back cracking with a painful sounding pop as he moved. Arthur was faster though, swinging smoothly around the couch and reaching to Tommy away, only stopping short when Tommy held a hand up. 

 

“It’s fine,” Tommy said breathing deeply. Nodding encouragingly as they inched closer, “Just slipped, I’ll grab a mop.” 

 

“Did you get cut?” Alfie asked quickly, barely spotting Tommy shake his head _‘No’_ as he stepped gingerly around the glass and out the door. Alfie and Arthur stood frozen, watching as rum pooled outward, dampening the carpet as it widened. Sharp pieces of glass glinting as they flowed on the alcohol. 

 

So Polly still had Kent then. Or maybe she didn’t, but whatever she did with him, Alfie didn’t want Tommy to hear. 

 

“He seems,” Arthur started, kicking larger shards out from under the side table. He paused, his voice dying in his throat as he thought.

 

“We’re just taking it slowly.” Alfie said. 

 

Arthur nodded, watching him as he limped around his desk to help collect the glass. 

 

Sleeping in the nest was less kind to his back than he’d thought it would be, although stress and exhaustion certainly hadn’t helped matters. They’d tried to sleep in the bed a few times since Campbell’s death, but Tommy always woke up fighting. Clawing at invisible demons as he struggled and screamed. 

 

The nightmares left Tommy heartbreakingly obedient when he woke up as well. Barely there confidence turning to dust as his too wide eyes flashed around the room, and he tossed between clinging painfully to Alfie and trying to apologize for misbehaving. Awful, swallowed sobs wracking his throat as he tried to contain himself, despite Alfie’s attempts to coax him into letting it out. 

 

“He looks, uh” Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed. “He looks cleaner, less like a dirty-” 

 

“Well thank you Arthur, for that astute observation.” Alfie snapped, jerking upright and staring at him.  

 

“I don’t mean it like that!” 

 

“Well maybe you can keep that opinion to yourself if you choose to say something to him.” 

 

“I wouldn’t say it-”

 

“Say what?” Tommy appeared at the doorway, mop in one hand and bucket in the other. A nervous tremor betraying his blank face. 

 

“Nothing love, unimportant. Give it here, eh?” Alfie nodded at the mop. “You sure you didn’t get cut?” 

 

Arthur lunged forward, startling Tommy as he reached out and gently pulled the mop and bucket from him and began cleaning. He shoved the end table to the side, nearly upending a lamp as he worked.

 

It was an odd change of personality, his sudden helpfulness and attempts to be civil. After spending so much time snarling, attacking and questioned everything Alfie did, Arthur seemed to have decided to put his suspicious attitude behind him. Whether that was because of Campbell’s death, Tommy’s slight improvement, or his own acceptance of what happened, Alfie didn’t know.

 

Tommy’s hands stayed frozen in midair where he’d held the cleaning supplies. His slow, deep breaths whispering loudly in Alfie’s ears. He didn’t look panicked. Nervous, and unsure, but not terrified like he had in the past. 

 

He almost wished Tommy’d just snap, and scream at them. He wished more that his siblings would pay better attention to their brother’s body language.  

 

“So, as I was saying,” Arthur said, moving furniture as he mopped, tension snapping in his quick movements. “John’ll be around, he’s been leaving notes with Polly apparently, but as she won’t be here-or I don’t think she’ll be here,” Arthur gestured, one hand swinging out. “We’ll have to piece together what the fucks gone on in Birmingham. Apparently Esme taken up a leading role within the company, and she says she has ‘No fucking intentions of stepping down now that her skills are being appreciated.’ Which, if you ask me, is shit. We’ve always appreciated her.” He rung the mop out, dropping it next to the bucket. 

 

Alfie stepped over the wet spots on the floor, making his way to Tommy.

 

“Well, maybe you’ve appreciated her, how you thought she should be appreciated, rather than how she felt she should?” Reaching Tommy, he gently took ahold of his hands and slowly eased them down, warm bonfire settling comfortably over him. 

 

“What?” Arthur turned, looking at them. “Tom?” 

 

“Did John give a time frame?” Alfie asked, letting go of Tommy’s hands to tuck him under his chin, pressing a kiss onto his bangs and running a hand through his hair. Tommy inhaled deeply again, faint tremors easing as Alfie swayed.

 

“Little over an hour? Maybe less?” Arthur’s voice wandered past them, not loud enough to break through their small moment of peace. 

 

Alfie hummed at Arthur’s answer, scenting faint holly as it sprang and grew around them 

 

“Do you want to be at the meeting, love?” He threw a glance over his shoulder, catching Arthur looking sadly at the larger pieces of glass, his mustache twitching as he ran a finger of it’s sharp edge. 

 

Tommy nodded, dragging himself out from under Alfie’s chin to look at him. 

 

“I’ll stay.” 

 

-John-

 

“What did Arthur say?” Esme asked, biting her lip as she went over her notes again. “How’s he doing?”

 

The car rattled down the road, a rare sunny day encouraging everyone out of their homes and out onto the busy London street. 

 

John had almost cried when Arthur called the meeting. Enduring Tommy’s day to day life for the last few weeks had been hell, and no one told him how much was actually involved. When did he sleep? Did he eat? How could he keep up meeting after meeting? He had meetings while walking to other meetings!

 

“Not much, he looked a little better I guess,” He said, turning left and steering them closer to Alfie’s, an uncomfortable nervous feeling sinking in his stomach at seeing Tommy. 

 

No one had been very forthcoming with information. Ada had only seen him for a split second before Campbell had been shot, and had been very quiet on the phone about it. Arthur had been even worse. Why was he always the last in the family to know the state of things? Of course there was Finn, but he was too young to understand.

 

“Better how?” Esme broke through his thoughts. “Better like he was being taken care of, or better like he was handling things?” 

 

“I don’t know, Arthur didn’t really say, and Polly hasn’t said anything but ‘Handle the business.’”

 

“They’ll be comforted to know its been handled.” She snapped her notebook shut. “I’ll be comforted to know what state he’s in. What did Arthur sound like?” 

 

“Quiet. But,” John huffed angrily, gesturing outward. “What does it matter how he said things, when he didn’t actually say anything about him. He said there was a family meeting today and that he’d be there. That’s it.” 

 

“There’s a big difference between saying ‘He’s better,’ quietly rather than loudly. Especially from Arthur. If he says Tommy’ll be there that’s some improvement too, don’t you think?” She turned, leaning towards him. 

 

“Arthur has spent weeks alone with them. I think he wouldn’t know how Tommy’s actually doing, unless he fucking asked.” He said. 

 

Parking the car, he peeked through the windshield at Alfie’s house, eyeing it as though something might jump from the front door and attack them. 

 

John wasn’t sure how much more he could handle the family business, but he doubted Tommy would really be in a good enough state to head it again. Just because he attended a meeting, didn’t mean he was able to take over. He might only attend to find out what John had fucked up, or forgotten to do. 

 

He’d never even considered any of them could be raped. Tommy as too dangerous to attack, and too smart. 

 

He even hadn’t believed Polly when she’d tried to explain. Having spent at least an hour trying to tell her that Tommy wasn’t the type you could grab off the street like that, he was a businessman. 

 

“John,” Esme’s soft morning dew wafted around him, cooling his anger. _‘Campbell’s dead. We’re focusing on healing now.’_ Ada’s voice rang in his mind. “We’ve helped how we could, we just have to figure out a plan going forward.” She ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 

 

He hummed in agreement, fingers tapping anxiously in his lap before climbing out of the car. 

 

Stepping into Alfie’s house, he paused. His feet feeling glued to the floor, until Esme jerked past him,  spotting Arthur. She darted quickly into the kitchen to bundle him into a hug. 

 

John followed slowly, scenting Arthur’s petrichor and Alfie’s bonfire escaping the room. Tommy’s faint holly drifting lightly overtop. 

 

“The drive was so nice today,” Esme’s voice echoed. 

 

Finally stepping into the kitchen, he stopped short, shock bleeding across his face. Esme continued to chatter, unbothered by his lack of movement. Tommy was leaning against the wall in the far corner, tucked close next to Alfie.

 

His hair was long. 

 

Long and scraggly. Tommy’s hair had never been long, and now it hung limply across his forehead, trying to hide the deep, purple circles ringing his eyes. Sharp cheekbones and thin, boney hands poked out from beneath his skin, though he tried to them under a sweater. 

 

Exhaustion and an itchy nervousness hung over him.

 

He looked like hell. As though he’d just gotten back from France all over again. Although, even in France, Tommy had managed to keep his hair cut. 

 

“Hi.” He managed, choking the word out. Unable to tear his eyes away from Tommy. Alfie nodded politely.

 

“John,” Arthur smiled, pulling him close and clapping him happily on the back. “Ada’s here as well, she’s just grabbing some stuff from the car.”

 

“Right,” John dredged up a watery smile, moving to hug Tommy as well before jerking as his coat was pulled backwards by Esme. He twisted around, catching her shaking her head ‘No’. 

 

The back door was thrown open, as Ada half fell into the back hall, breaking the awkward feeling hanging heavily in the kitchen. 

 

She dropped several diaries and notebooks onto the counter, flipped the first one open and pulled out a pen. 

 

“So.” She started, staring at John with a smile. “What’s happened?” 

 

They spent an hour relaying everything he and Esme had been working with various meetings and clients on. How much help Esme turned out to be, who they pissed off, shot or burned down. 

 

He’d expected Tommy to say something about their handling of clients the entire conversation. To say something and kick Alfie out. To say something and argue Esme’s new position. 

 

But he was silent. One hand curled tightly into Alfie’s shirt, half hidden behind him. 

 

Ada never asked him anything either. She’d smile or nod kindly in his direction. Arthur did as well, his eyes never too far away. 

 

His throat closed a few times while speaking. A telltale clawing feeling creeping up out of his stomach the longer the meeting went on. 

 

-Tommy-

 

The blanket really was, very nice. 

 

Ollie has dropped it off earlier. Several of Alfie’s employees had shown up actually, a large gift basket in tow with books, soaps and blankets spilling out. 

 

Alfie assured him they didn’t know what happened, just that Tommy hadn’t felt well, and after a few weeks felt they were worried and wanted to put something together. Ollie in particular had been very proud of the blanket, his mate, Noah had knitted.

The soaps were very nice too, although Tommy would never use them. He could give them to Ada though. The books were interesting, several horse training manuals, and a few Russian fairy tales. 

 

He wondered if they knew he couldn’t read Russian? 

 

Folding the blanket again, he put it next to the basket and began flipping through one of the books. Sitting comfortably in the bed as he read. 

 

He was going to make a strong effort to sleep in the bed tonight. Alfie hadn’t said anything, but his back ached. Tommy could tell. They couldn’t keep staying in the closet, and sitting calmly in the bed felt like a safe first step to not being terrified of it. He could try to sit in the bed and practice being in the open. Although the wasn’t sure how much time he’d have to practice today, given that everyone was staying here for dinner, despite Ada’s massive house. Esme had offered to cook, so they’d have something to eat, but he didn’t want to sit through anything else with them. The meeting had been horrible enough. 

 

John’s pitying stares and Ada and Arthur’s constant checking on him. He’d wanted to leave seconds after John had arrived, but admitting that would’ve only made them worse. And Alfie hadn’t said if he was allowed-

 

The book dropped, landing in his lap as his hands came up to cover his face. 

 

 _Alfie doesn’t decide what I’m allowed to do._ _Alfie doesn’t decide what I’m allowed to do._

 

He choked on a breath, fear tearing up his back as he repeated the phrase. There wasn’t some horrifying, painful punishment coming, no one was going to grab or touch him. He was fine. 

 

A loud knock rang through the room, wrenching his head out of his hands and towards the door. A sharp pain bolted through his heart, shocking and reminding him to relax. He forced himself to breathe and try to calm down. 

 

The smell of the opium den was heavy in his nose though, rocking his stomach and sending nausea crawling up his throat. 

 

“Tommy?” John pushed the door open and stepped shyly into the room. His pine scent faint, barely cutting through the opium. Inching closer, he slid onto the bed, wary eyes tracking over his face. “Just coming to,” He paused, coughing into his fist. “To say hi.” 

 

A gasp shook out of him as he blinked and the opium den slowly faded. 

 

“Alfie is pretty protective.” John said, sitting back and thumbing through someone the books. “I asked if I could come say hi, and he had a few things to say. Interesting, sort of odd things, but that’s Alfie, isn’t it?” 

 

Tommy wished Cyril was here. Cyril was calm, and he eased his pounding heart. Having Cyril to pet or give attention to was much safer, better than having to endure attention being put on him. 

 

“You can talk to me, you know that, right?” John slid forward, pushing himself close. Crisp pine clouded around them. “I’ve been keeping everything afloat while you’ve been,” He leaned back again, searching for the right word. “Well I don’t want to say sick, cause you weren’t.” 

 

What did John mean when he said Alfie said ‘things’. What sort of things? 

 

Were there rules that Tommy didn’t know about? He couldn’t follow them if he didn’t know! His head spun, fear returning with a vengeance. 

 

“Healing. That’s a good word. Healing.” 

 

Tommy nodded, his fingers finding Noah’s knitted blanket to pull at the weave. Something to hold onto, to keep him grounded. Alfie said to relax if he felt a panic coming on, so he needed to relax. Do as he was told. 

 

_No, Alfie doesn’t decide-_

 

But this was a good bit of advice, something to calm down with. 

 

“It’s really different. Nice though, isn’t it?” John gently tugged the blanket from him. “Not having to work all the time. No one threatening you constantly-not that Campbell wasn’t threatening, I mean, he was.” He stumbled over his words, his hands rising to explain himself. “And that other guy too, Kent, he was very-” 

 

“John,” Tommy said, his breath catching unhelpfully, “Can you get Alf-” His mouth went dry as Kent walked through the doorway. Somehow appearing with his name and smiling as he stepped lightly across his room. 

 

“Hey, Tommy.” He stopped at the edge of the bed, his smile growing as Tommy lunged backwards and his head slammed hard into the headboard, bright white sparks spotting across his vision. 

 

“Tommy,” His voice was soft, cloying as he crawled onto the bedspread. “You’re fine, calm down.” 

 

One large hand reached out, grabbing his arm and wrenching him close. Tucking him tightly against his chest. Where was John, had John seen him downstairs and still let him come up? Was Kent Alfie’s ‘odd things’? Had Tommy misbehaved? He hadn’t meant to, Alfie had to know. It wasn’t intentional, whatever he’d done. 

 

“I didn’t!” He screamed, trying to explain. Fighting the icy fear tearing through him. He couldn’t push him off though, he was going to hurt him again. Shove him down and- “I didn’t misbehave!” He tried again, his voice straining. 

 

Ashen bonfire stung in his nose, whispering out from behind Kent. He shoved against Kent’s arms, wanting to ask for Alfie, but Kent held him painfully tight.

 

“Let go, John.” 

 

Kent evaporated like smoke when Alfie’s voice whispered out.

Tommy froze at his sudden disappearance. Confusion and nausea rocketing through him as he tried to understand what happened. John was holding him impossibly tightly, a terrified look on his face as his arms clamped tighter. His shirt looked wrecked too. Ripped and bloody from where someone had clawed at him. 

 

“No,” John crushed Tommy closer still. 

 

Alfie’s hand tightened around John’s arm as ashen bonfire spread heavily around them. 

 

“Let go, or I’ll make you.” 

 

John shuddered, his chest heaving as Alfie’s low, soothing tone rolled over them both. Slowly, John’s arms released, and Tommy fell backwards, landing on the soft mattress. 

 

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur’s voice groaned from the doorway. “Come on John, come here.” Arthur stepped quickly into the room, pulling John up onto shaky feet. 

 

“What the hell was that? He was fine, Arthur. Fucking fine!” John’s voice shot out as they moved down the hall, high strung and terrified. “He just lost it!”

 

Alfie crouched down next to the bed, one hand reaching out to card lightly through Tommy’s hair as rotten holly permeated around them, coating over the bed and down the sides.  

 

It was impossible. No matter how he tried to combat his fears, whether by breathing deeply, grounding himself or reciting phrases, he ended up terrified he’d misbehaved, and then Kent attacked. He wasn’t going to get better. Only steadily worse until one day Alfie left him. John hadn’t even said or done anything to bring this on, it was all just Tommy. All just Tommy being unable to function, unable to tell the difference between real and imaginary. Screaming and clawing at his harmless brother, who thought he’d ‘lost it’. 

 

“You didn’t misbehave at all. Don’t think for a second that you have, alright?” Alfie’s thumb brushed over his cheek, dabbing at the tears dripping down. He pulled himself out of his crouch, his knee popping as he moved. “Let’s move to the nest for now, eh?” Alfie took his hand, pulling him slowly and carefully up off of the bed. Thank god the closet was close. 

 

Tugging open the closet door, Alfie sank back onto his knees, arranging the pillows quickly while Tommy fell into the blankets. Muttering ‘I didn’t, I didn’t misbehave’ as his arms wound tightly around his middle, and deeper sobs cracked from his soul. 

 

“I know you didn’t, Tommy.” Warm arms encircled him loosely. Brushing faintly through his hair as Tommy buried his nose into Alfie’s chest, laying still as the sobs wracked through him. “I think it’s time we got out of London for a while though, maybe take a little break from family time.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left!! Thank you so much for reading my story. If you liked it, please leave a comment below! They get me through the week. ❤️


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with my story for so long, please know that you are all the loveliest human beings on the face of the planet. ❤️ Thank you again Stormborn_88 for requesting a protective Alfie!! ❤️

-Arthur-

 

“Don't start any fights.” Ada said, slamming the car door shut. “And don’t be loud. Alfie was pretty clear on that one.” 

 

“He talks to you then?” Arthur sniffed, eyeing her sullenly. 

 

“Don’t start Arthur. I’ve been helping.”

 

Arthur hummed, peering at the house from the car. It looked nice. Old. A small, but warm looking thing, sitting peacefully on the horizon. Too far from the nearest town to hear the noise, but close enough that the drive wasn’t terrible. A small dirt path separated them from the ocean, cutting down a hill to a nearby stable. 

 

“Polly and John still meeting us?” Arthur asked, his footsteps crunching up the dirt path. 

 

“She said they would.” Ada twisted to look at him. The wind rushed through her hair, tossing it around her face. “She also said not to bring up Kent,” Her eyes darkened, turning hard. “That it’s been taken care of.”

 

Arthur nodded and squinted at her. 

 

“She told you then.” 

 

Ada huffed, turning back around and steadily climbing up the path. 

 

“You wouldn’t be proud of her.” 

 

“Ada-”

 

“Would you sleep better, if I told you?” She paused, looking at him over her shoulder.

 

“I think I’d feel more comfortable knowing he was dead.” 

 

She hummed in agreement, tilting her nose to the wind as a strong gust blew by them. 

 

“He’s not. She sold him.” 

 

Arthur’s voice died in his throat as Ada spun back around and pulled her coat tighter around herself. 

 

Chilly air blustered past them, carrying them up the rest of the path. Ada pushed open the front door, quietly calling out as stepped inside. 

 

He could hear quiet murmuring for a moment, low and coaxing as Alfie’s fiery scent snuck around them. It teased gently passed their noses, sinking over everything. 

 

Climbing the two quick steps into the kitchen, they spotted Alfie. One hand loosely wrapped around a rolling pin while the other was holding up a raspberry, a pointed look on his face as he stared across the room. 

 

“Raspberries are good for you.” Alfie said, nodding at the fruit. “I have exactly 27 and I only need 26. It’d be a shame to throw it away and you know Cyril doesn’t like red food. 

 

“Cyril doesn’t like red food?” Ada asked, smiling as she dropped her bag onto the counter. “Is that normal? I thought dogs ate everything.” 

 

“Depends on the day, yesterday it was green food.” 

 

Ada laughed lightly, and reached down to pat at the dogs head, scratching lightly over his ears. 

 

Creeping across the kitchen, Arthur stole a look at where Alfie was holding the raspberry up, hoping to spot Tommy, but finding a bundle of plush blankets draped over a large armchair. 

 

“Are you positive Cyril won’t eat it?” The blankets shifted with Tommy’s muffled voice, and a fluffy head of dark hair appeared from underneath as he poked his head out.

 

“I swear love. He hates raspberries.” Alfie said, waiting patiently with his arm still outstretched. “I once saw him sniff out a whole box of ‘em, eat about half, and then lay on the floor for two days with a belly ache. He won’t even touch ‘em now.” 

 

Tommy pushed the thicker blanket to the side and crawled out of his nest slowly.

 

It was hard to tell if he was eating regularly yet, given that he had tucked himself into a warm looking sweater, but his face wasn’t as gaunt as the last time Arthur had seen him. The dark rings around his eyes hadn’t lightened though, and he still nervously tracked their hands as he passed Arthur and Ada. His own hands twisted tightly into his sweater cuffs. Holly whispered nervously around them, tossing sweetly as he hummed a hello at them both. 

 

Taking the raspberry between his skinny fingers, Tommy gently spun it in his hands. 

 

“‘Lo Tom,” Arthur nodded, grimacing as he leant against the counter and flour coated down his shirt sleeves. He sat up, dusting himself off and finally looking down at whatever Alfie had been working on before they’d arrived. 

 

The entire counter was covered in flour, with small, evenly cut balls of dough laid on a tray nearby. 

 

“Scones.” Alfie answered when he threw him a questioning look. “Our neighbor, Miriam, has horses. We bring her some snacks every once in a while, and she lets Tommy take the horses out. Although if you ask me,” Alfie leaned forward, his eyes flashing to Tommy for a second, watchful as he squinted at the raspberry. “She’d let him help with the horses, scones or no scones.” 

 

Tommy popped the raspberry in his mouth and turned, his eyes catching Arthur’s once before he quickly stepped around him, making for his chair again. 

 

“I’d love to meet the horses,” Ada smiled kindly as Tommy reorganized his nest. “And Miriam.” 

 

Tommy paused, holly spinning through the air as his hands hovered over the edge of his nest. 

 

“If you feel like it.” Ada added. 

 

Bonfire burned warmly as Alfie went back to his baking, humming as he worked. 

 

“If you’re worried about the scones, they won’t be done for a while. Miriam did say to visit anytime though.” Alfie said, focusing intently on measuring out the dough. 

 

Tommy stared forward, his eyebrows furrowing as concern and worry crossed his eyes, souring his holly as he tried to respond. His throat bobbed, highlighting  nearly faded bruises. 

 

Trembling fingers brushed over the blankets, tossing them roughly onto the chair in a flurry of movement. 

 

“The stables,” Tommy coughed, “Are down this way.” He grabbed his coat, throwing it on quickly, jagged limbs struggling to move smoothly. 

 

“Wear a hat!” Alfie said, continuing to work. 

 

Tommy breathed deeply as he stepped to the coat rack and pulled down a thick wool hat. His previous nerves and fears easing and slowing as he moved. 

 

Arthur’s heart throbbed as he looked over at Alfie, his petrichor sinking around them uncontrollably. 

 

“Arthur,” Alfie stopped him, waiting until Tommy threw the door open. “He’s doing a lot better, but watch out for-” Alfie’s flour dusted fingers brushed up by his temple. “For it. Please.” 

 

“Yeah,” Arthur sniffed, brushing a hand through his mustache, “Does he still see things that aren’t there?” 

 

That hadn’t been a problem Arthur had to deal with before. He could handle Tommy going glassy eyed and numb to the world, shuddering quietly as he relived bad memories, but seeing Tommy scream in John’s arms had been far worse than trying to coax him awake. 

 

Far worse, and far more heartbreaking. 

 

“Less and less. But it does happen.” 

 

“How’s he sleeping?” 

 

“He’s trying,” Alfie said, pausing and leaning his full weight on the counter. “And he’s going to wonder where you are.” 

 

Arthur waved him off, deciding already he’d ask Pol later, when she inevitably questioned him. 

 

Throwing open the door, he made quick work of the dirt path, coming upon a worn, but well loved stable. He’d never been good with flowers, but small yellow ones dotted around the doors, trying to climb up the walls. 

 

“This is doughnut.” 

 

“Doughnut!” Ada’s giggles echoed through the small barn, catching on the brisk wind. “She named the horse doughnut?” 

 

“She likes sweets.” Tommy answered. 

 

Arthur knocked on the door, moving quickly passed several stalls until he found the two. Ada stood a respectable distance from the horse, smiling softly as Tommy’s fingers wound through the horses hair. 

 

“Is that why you make her scones?” Ada asked, smiling at Arthur and holding her hand for the horse to sniff as it inched closer. “Seems like a good deal for her.” 

 

“Well, she has no one helping her,” Tommy said, focusing intently on pulling a knot free. “And Alfie always has left over food, we can’t possibly eat it all. He buys enough to feed an army.” 

 

Arthur smiled as he leaned against one of the doors, scenting the slowly growing holly. 

 

Tommy blinked up at him for a second, a small smile on his face as practiced fingers twisted around the fine hair, pulling it free without a fuss. 

 

“She likes you,” Arthur said, his voice cracking. 

 

“Well it’s either me or Miriam, and I don’t think Miriam gives her snacks.” 

 

“Everyone likes snacks.” Ada agreed. 

 

Ada spun around eyeing the stable, and the other horses. Their friendly faces curious as she passed by them. 

 

“Do you get to visit often?” She asked, her voice quiet as she brushed her fingers over worn, paint chipped wood. 

 

“At least once a day, unless it’s raining.” He mumbled, his eyes focusing on a particularly tangled section. “Alfie doesn’t like me-” He coughed, choking on his words. 

 

Ada kept on walking slowly around the stable, patiently greeting all the horses. her eyes flashed to Tommy for a second as a nervous smile crossed her face, but she kept pacing. Her warm whiskey fluttered comfortingly through the room. 

 

“Uhm,” Tommy’s fingers faltered, stuttering over the horse's mane. 

 

“Tom?” Arthur leaned forward, anxiety growing and creeping up his back. Tommy’s eyes weren’t turning glassy, but he didn’t look comfortable. 

 

“Alfie doesn’t like me out in the rain.” Tommy said quickly, nodding and digging his fingers back through the horse’s hair. “That’s reasonable.” Arthur heard him mumble, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought. 

 

A low bark echoed, and Cyril’s large form appeared outside the door, announcing him before he padded through the barn. 

 

“Polly and John are probably here. Alfie usually sends Cyril out if someone’s at the door.” Tommy dropped his hands, patting the dogs head and tucking his coat tighter around himself.  

 

Ada nodded, heading out the door and back up the trail, Cyril trotting happily next to her. 

 

“Tommy?” Arthur whispered, watchful as Tommy turned to look at him. “You’d tell us if you wanted us to take you home, wouldn’t you? If Alfie-” He coughed, a nervous tickle in the back of his throat as Tommy stared quietly. “If Alfie ever did anything. You’d trust us, right?” 

 

His heart throbbed as Tommy paused and turned to stare at the horse and his hands wound anxiously into his coat sleeves. 

 

“I think I would.” Bright, open eyes answered back. 

 

Arthur crept forward slowly, telegraphing his movements clearly as he brought his arms up and around Tommy, hugging him gently for the first time in months. 

 

Tommy sniffed, his breath hitching for a moment before wrapping his arms tightly around him, and dropping his head onto his shoulder.

 

A thick feeling clawed up his throat, burning behind his eyelids. 

 

“Alfie does a good job, you know?” Tommy peeked up at him. “He’s a good husband.” 

 

“Yeah, I know-I know,” Arthur nodded, tightening his grip for a second before loosening it when a tremor ran through Tommy. “Just hard, isn’t it?” 

 

Cyril came trotting through again, nosing at them and whining. 

 

“Alright then,” Arthur mumbled awkwardly, one hand cupping the back of Tommy’s head as he pulled him close once more before letting go. “Alfie wants us back, then we go back, eh?” 

 

Tommy nodded, breaking away and following close to Cyril. Faint shudders easing as he walked. Blustery wind broke around them, cold and strong as it tossed their coats. 

 

Gray and windy, but peaceful. 

 

Once back inside, Tommy slid next to Alfie. Floury hands found Tommy’s easily, pulling him close, bonfire burning as he tucked him into his side. Whispered questions shared too quietly to hear between them as Polly and John settled in. 

 

Polly lit a cigarette and passed it to Tommy, a small smile growing on her face as Tommy inhaled deeply. 

 

“So,” Tommy said, blowing out a stream of smoke. “What’s been happening in Birmingham then?” 

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She’s done! I hope you loved it, If you did, please leave a comment below. They cheer me up and keep me writing. There may be more of this to come, whether in one shots or other small multi chapters, but I can’t let it go just yet. Thank you to everyone who has read, commented or left kudos, you’re my absolute favorite. Come find me on tumblr if you’d like to chat! I’m @tinypinetrees

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If I’ve made any glaring errors, please let me know and if you liked it, please leave a comment below! They make my day like you wouldn’t believe! I’m hoping to update regularly, so look out for the next chapter soon!


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